


The Hand of Surtur

by animehime20



Category: Thor (2011), Thor: Tales of Asgard
Genre: Loki Rules Asgard, M/M, Muspellheim, Possession, Post-Tales of Asgard, Pre-Thor, Pseudo-Incest, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-16
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-05 11:18:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 64,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/405810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animehime20/pseuds/animehime20
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"<i>Now...do me a favor...and bring the Mighty Thor to his knees</i>."</p>
<p>Half a year after the events of <i>Tales of Asgard</i>, Thor is still not worthy enough to wield Mjolnir. He's tried everything—vanquishing monsters, rescuing those in need, being nice...and nothing's working. And Loki is still a bit distant after he murdered Algrim in cold blood and trying to get over it.</p>
<p>But things take a turn for the worst when Surtur, the very demon their father Odin destroyed decades ago, returns to Asgard and seeks a temporary body to control while he recreates his own body: specifically Loki's body.</p>
<p>Now Asgard is on the verge of becoming the new Muspellheim, and Thor must rise against his little brother before he manages to use his tainted magic to summon a new body for Surtur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fourteen Years Ago

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings, my beloved readers. Here is another story from me, and I hope everyone enjoys it! It was a lot of fun to write!

_People tend to forget nowadays that I, along with Ymir and Laufey and all the other monsters of old, grew up around the same time as the great heroes of Asgard. When the Odinsons were nothing but distant thoughts in the minds of the future, their parents were growing up. I was among one of these born at such a time. Oh yes, believe it or not, there was a time when we were all young children._

_I knew Odin Allfather before he was the Allfather, back when he was just Odin Borson._

_He was most definitely powerful. And I have a well-known appreciation for power. But on top of that, he was kind. He was brave too, and wise and well-learned for his young age. He made friends with all he met. Even the adults were taken with him, stunned by his charm and wisdom._

_Yes, I was most definitely smitten with him, but not for romantic purposes. I think, deep down, that all I wanted was to be close to him. To be friends with this kind young man who would one day grow to be Allfather of the Nine Realms._

_I was naive._

_What could an Asgardian like Odin Borson ever see in someone like me? What was I to the boy who would one day grow to be the Allfather? What importance did I have in the world he would one day inherit?_

_But I thought he would be different. I thought that, for all his rumored kindness and his charm and his acceptance, he would be different than the other Asgardians. I thought Odin Borson could look past our obvious differences—the fact being that he was an Asgardian and I, a jotunn from Muspellheim. I thought maybe he'd look beyond my skin and see me for who I really was. I thought Odin Borson could look and see the real me._

_...He could hardly even look at me. And when he did, all he saw was what everyone else saw: a burning jotunn who'd been born to a race meant to be feared, a race meant to destroy, a race meant to be eradicated._

_All Odin Borson, who would one day grow into Odin Allfather, saw when he looked into my eyes that day was a monster._

_...So I became one_.

—The Fire Demon Surtur, the Lord of Muspellheim

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

My Sons, Thor and Loki,

As I enter the Odinsleep once more, I request of you, my only heirs to the throne of Asgard, to reflect on your actions during my sleep—both the happy times and the sad times. And when you look back on them, the happier ones will seem that much more so. No quill shall ever ruin your memories of each other. My slumber will be a challenge to the both of you, as you will be left without a king or a father to comfort or guide you for several short months. In a way this will be a taste of independence for you, my sons. A lesson on what life will be like when you, Thor, take the throne and you, Loki, become his advisor. There may be many challenges ahead for you, my sons—from physical battles to mental battles, from inner kingdom conflicts to playing peacemaker for distant kingdoms. But I have faith that you will, together, defeat each of these challenges as they come. May you bring Asgard much pride, and I will be thinking of you. May you bring prosperity to your home. Long live the sons of Odin and the princes of Asgard.

Your Father and King of Asgard,

Odin Allfather

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

[ _Fourteen Years Ago_...]

 

"Loki! Lokiiii!"

Thor burst into his little brother's sleeping quarters. The blond-haired prince of Asgard was panting heavily from sprinting around the castle. It was nearly time for the ir father's big announcement, and Loki was hiding again!

Scanning Loki's bedchamber, nothing appeared to be out of place. It was decorated in dark colors: greens and blacks adorned every surface. The tiny down bed lay made, the floor's woven carpet was clear, and even the desk lay neatly organized. Loki's massive selection of quills and spellbooks were arranged nicely in a row, and his parchment was stacked, ready to use. The ink pot was plugged with a cork to prevent it from drying out, and Loki's most prized spellbook was resting in the center of the wooden desk.

Thor cocked his head, thinking he had caught a small sound—an exhale.

Moving further into the room, he proceeded towards the back where a lavish washroom was located. Peering within, he saw his two-year-old little brother facing the large mirror upon one wall, brushing his fingers through his dark tresses with a sad sigh.

Loki was watching his expression with wide eyes, looking over every single one of his black hairs. His toddler fingers brushed the strands out of his eyes and let them fall back. He spent a lot of time looking at his hair and wondering why it wasn't blond like his brother's, or white like his father's, or the beautiful gold-silver mix of his mother's. And then there were the matter of his eyes—emerald green, like a snake's glittering wet scales.

At two years old, Loki was strangely observant. He often sat awake at night after his mother tucked him in and kissed his forehead, and he wondered why everyone in his family had blue eyes except for him.

As quietly as he could, Thor walked into the tiled room and poked his head over Loki's shoulder. "Loki, come on. If we're too late, we'll miss Father's announcement and we'll never get to greet Father's new advisor like everyone else!"

Loki jumped, startled by his brother's sudden arrival. "T'or!" he scolded, tapping his brother's arm with his pudgy hand. "It not nice sneak up on Loki. And I not goin' be late for announ-ment. I just ready to go t'ere."

"Sure, sure," Thor said, rolling his eyes. "Loki, I know you're worried about your hair and your eyes, but I like them, so you should too. Now come on. Father and Mother will be sad if we aren't there to meet the new advisor with the rest of the kingdom. We'll look silly! Now, come on!" Thor pushed the tip of his boot against Loki's rear and jolted up, despite Loki's stubbornness to stay seated.

Loki flailed and pushed his brother away. "Leave me 'lone! I coming, I coming!"

An idea hit Thor suddenly, and a mischievous grin spread across his face. "I'll tickle you again. Here I come!" Thor slipped an arm around Loki's pudgy waist and tickled his own fingers against his baby-fat belly, eliciting a shriek of surprise from his little brother. Loki sprang up with a playful, "Nooooo!" and darted off like a rabbit, Thor pursuing him out of the room and into the corridors, laughing. "I'm gonna getcha! I'm gonna getcha! And when I do, I'm going to pin you down and tickle you without mercy!"

Loki giggled and put on more speed. He was slower than his big brother, given his smaller size, but he knew how Thor always hung back just to give him a fighting chance. "You hafta catch me a-fore I get to moter and fater!"

Thor knew that in all of their games, their parents were 'safety'. If Loki got to them first, he was safe until the game started up again later. If Thor got there first, he was safe, too.

"You need to _find_ them first, brother!" Thor exclaimed, half a warrior-length behind Loki's scurrying body. "And when you do, I'll catch you!" He stretched his arm out and brushed his fingers over Loki's back, another playful shriek coming from him in response.

Loki turned his head and stuck his tongue out at Thor before taking a sharp turn down another corridor, bursting in through a couple open doors into the castle's audience chambers, already filled with a large throng of commoner Asgardians.

The thrones at the top of a large altar contained two tall Asgardians: their parents, Queen Frigga and King Odin Allfather. The queen was youthful in face, while Odin himself seemed ageless yet ancient, sturdy in build, and his sharp eyes seemed to pierce through anything they stared at. Frigga stared at her sons in horror as they burst into the throne room like wild animals, but Odin couldn't hide the smile that spread across his wrinkle-less face.

Loki ran up the massive steps to the throne and planted a tiny hand against Odin's leg. "I win. Now leave me 'lone, T'or!"

Thor himself made an indignant noise of defeat. He stomped dramatically up next to his mother and stuck his tongue out at Loki, to the bemusement of both their parents.

"My sons, we have guests," Frigga said softly.

Thor and Loki shared a surprised glance and peered over at the Asgardians in the crowd. They dove behind their father and mother, forgetting their petty feud for now. Despite being the sons of Odin, the two brothers were young—two and three years aged—and still weren't comfortable with the idea of so many Asgardians staring at them. But the watching Asgardians didn't mind the interruption of their princes. A few were giggling at the brothers' antics, while others just rolled their eyes.

Odin leaned down and gave his sons a gentle nudge to the front. "To our sides, my sons. Come meet my new advisor."

The two young princes immediately switched places as they had practiced, Thor at Odin's left, and Loki at his mother's.

Odin cleared his throat and let his gaze slide across the crowd. "For many years I have been your king. I have led you through wars and through construction. We have had both good times and bad times. I must note, however, that there shall come a day when I will no longer rule you. You have been loyal to me, and I ask that you treat my son Thor with as much respect as you have shown me when it comes time for him to claim the throne of Asgard. Never before have their been two sons of Odin so worthy of claiming the throne. However, there may only be one. My youngest son, Loki, shall become an advisor to his brother, ruling from the sidelines, giving advice that will lead Asgard to the future. They will be a wonderous team, a team constructed of two wonderful brothers. However, for the time being, it is important that my sons be given proper role models." His speech was relatively short, by Asgardian standards.

Frigga announced, "Therefore, we have taken in a wanderer. Fate has brought him to us, begging for sanctuary, and we have granted it to him."

From the shadows emerged a tall, slender figure. He was an elf, judging by his pointed ears. He had dark violet skin, almost black. His hair hung down to his shoulders in matted silver locks. His features were sharp and dangerous, and he looked more deadly than friendly. His clothes looked strange on him—light yellow against such dark skin.

"His name is Algrim," Odin said. "He is the only survior of Svartalheim."

The Dark Elf's expression hardened at the mention of his home. He clenched his hand and bit his lip until his knuckles turned lavender and his lip was blackened with blood.

"He is to be my advisor," Odin continued. "From this day forward, he is to be treated as an Asgardian. Not a guest, not as a Dark Elf. Treat him as if he were born here, one of us. May he assist me in ruling my kingdom and letting it grow to its fullest strength."

A cheer went through the crowd. Thor and Loki, deeming the introductions over, leaped at each other and began rolling on the ground, laughing. Odin and Frigga stepped aside to allow Algrim to come in the center of them on the altar. They motioned with their hands for him to come join them.

Algrim peered down at them in obvious disgust. In his eyes, princes should not act in such a crude manner, especially not in front of so many of their peers! Odin was laughing, however. He waved his hand to call Algrim to his side once more. Raising his head and wrinkling his nose indignantly, Algrim marched over to the center, making to step over the rolling mass of Asgardian flesh that were the kingdom's two princes.

Thor had other plans.

As the Dark Elf who was his father's new advisor raised his leg to step over him and his brother, Thor sprang up and tangled his arms around Algrim's calf.

The sudden weight threw the Dark Elf off balance. With an undignified and very unmanly shriek, Algrim flailed his arms and crashed onto the floor right on his face, just barely missing landing on poor little Loki, who rolled to the side just in time.

There was an eruption of laughter from all over the throne room. Even Odin and Frigga couldn't hide their amused smiles.

Algrim sat up and glared at the two giggling princes. If this was to be his new future...then perhaps it may have been a better idea to stay in Svartalheim and face the Frost Giants on his own. Surely they could not be as bad as two children, right?

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

"There are several things we must tell you before we allow you to begin your duties, Algrim," Odin said.

The ceremony had long since ended, and the Asgardians who'd gathered to watch had vacated. Loki was clinging to his mother's flowing skirts, and Thor paced in circles around his father's legs, weaving in and out of the folds of his tunic. Algrim tried not to focus on either of them.

Frigga glanced over at Odin, who nodded for her to speak. She said, "We will be placing many things within your care. One set of objects being the safety of the weapon's vault. And one such weapon is the Hammer of the Worthy. It is named Mjollnir."

Algrim hummed. He had heard the legends of the uru hammer that only accepted the most worthy wielder, but he'd never imagined it was here within Asgard's vaults.

"In addition to being my advisor," Odin said, "you will be placed in charge of the weapons. The lower levels of the castle holds rooms containing dangerous artifacts that we were unable to safely disable or destroy. We leave you the duty to confiscate any item created that could be destructive if used in the wrong hands. Remember to come to me if you have any question, but I trust you to use your judgment, as my home is now yours. Guard it well."

Algrim nodded.

Frigga stood listening to her husband list off things one by one. She looked down at Loki. Sweet, quiet Loki. Frigga worried for him, always so shy and reserved, trying to stay hidden from the world. He was always regarding his reflection with a sense of distain, and Frigga worried if he had begun to question the differences in his hair and eyes and skin.

"Algrim?" she asked.

The Dark Elf raised his head, staring at her with onyx eyes. "Yes, my Queen?"

Frigga smiled warmly and reached past him to nudge Thor to her side, patting his head. "In addition to your duties as advisor and guardian of the weapons, I leave my sons under your protection. I do not ask that you raise them, but I ask that you protect them when we are not able. The duties of King and Queen prevent us from standing by their sides as true parents must. It is a sad fact, and though we see them every day, we do not see them nearly enough. Until they are old enough to begin their studies—and for many years to come—I ask that you be a friend to my sons. They are both the only one each other truly has. Thus is the hardship of being royalty. They need a friend...someone they can trust. I ask that you be that friend, Algrim."

Prince Thor draped his arms around Loki's stubby shoulders, moving so he was practically in front of him. He regarded Algrim with blue eyes that were wise for his age. Loki, blinking through long lashes, had eyes that were wiser and more frightening. So far he was the only Asgardian in the royal family with such dark hair, such pale skin, and green eyes. Not just any green—emerald poison green.

_So these are the boys I am to raise_ , Algrim found himself thinking.

His memory of Svartalheim was dim—when the Giants attacked, he had fought and been struck in the head. His memory was fuzzy at best, but the feelings were there and always would be. But more than that he remembered his family, his sons and his wife who'd been taken away from him by those damn monsters.

Thor and Loki were roughly the same age as his own had been in life. Three and two. They did not look nearly the same, but their personalities were similar. The elder: brave and protective. The younger: shy and quiet. Both: active and playful with one another. He felt his chest ache at the memory of his own boys who would never reach adulthood. He remembered them rolling on the floor the way the princes had in the throne room, and wondered if that was why he'd despised them so. Because they reminded him of something he once had and never would? He tried not to think about it so much—it only made the pain so much worse in the end.

Then Thor looked up from Loki and grinned at the Dark Elf with a mouth surprisingly full of tiny pearls that would one day grow into perfect gleaming teeth befitting the Crown Prince of Asgard, which was to be his new home.

And Algrim thought, for the first time, that raising two boys who weren't his own might not be so bad.


	2. Six Months Following the Disaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "T-this isn't possible. Father defeated you! How are you _here?_ "
> 
> Six months following Algrim's betrayal and demise at Loki's hands, the younger of the two princes finds himself being followed by a spirit...one he recognizes all too well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter...

_Yes, I became a monster. I became the creature the Nine Realms feared most; I became the burning jotunn everyone saw me as from the moment I was born. And you know what? It was easy. It felt...right, liberating almost._

_It felt right because it **was** right. Right for me._

_I realized that Order—especially the order that stupid Borson desired more than any other—was not for me. I realized that trying to fit into Odin's order was a waste of time. Why should I change to please him if he wouldn't accept me for what I was?_

_So what was for me? What was the one thing that was to have any meaning to Surtur? Where was I supposed to go? Who was I meant to love, if love was indeed meant for me? And if I were meant for love at all, I would find it soon, no? If not...then was I meant to be left alone._

_My answer came soon enough._

_My one true love...the one thing that meant more to me than anything else in the Nine Realms. What was it, you ask. Well, you should know by now. It was a land I fell for. A land I created; a land given to me by Odin Borson's cold rejection._

_Muspellheim_.

—The Fire Demon Surtur, the Lord of Muspellheim

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

There was a thunderous blast of noise that nearly threw Loki from his bed. His heart was pounding so quickly he feared it might burst from his ribcage any moment, and he was in an absolute state of panic he didn't remember ever being in before.

He looked around his bedchamber, trying to find spot anything in the darkness that would have torn him from his peaceful sleep, finally after weeks of nightmares.

After a few moments, the youngest son of Odin Allfather yawned and shook his head, his brown hair falling into disorder. Blowing a stand of hair out of his face, Loki began to calm. The only male sorcerer in Asgard's Sorcery class rested his head on his pillow, closed his eyes, and exhaled peacefully as he reflected on the events of the last six months.

In less than a day, Asgard had seen the return of Surtur's Sword, and was nearly torn apart by the war stealing it from Jotunheim had brought on. But peace had prevailed; Elderstahl was returned to the Frost Giants without much bloodshed, and the only notable casualties had been a few of the Einherjar, a warrior here or there, his own father...and Algrim the Dark Elf, the betrayer of Asgard.

But the damage caused by Algrim's betrayal had been undone, and Odin had recovered well in six simple months. In fact, if it weren't for the fact that Algrim no longer attended their father's or roused the sleepy princes from their slumbering dreams in the morning, one would never know what had transpired.

Loki shifted in his bed, stretched his arms and legs once, twice, and wrapped himself up with his thin arms, listening to the sound of Asgard's beautiful night.

 _Wait_.

Loki jumped off of his bed, stomping the floor with his feet. Calling upon his magic, of which he was constantly praised by his mentors, the prince's hands glowed with light green fire, illuminating the room. He glared at the retreating darkness, shifting his eyes around suspiciously.

Something was wrong with his room. Nothing had been changed, at least nothing big, but Loki still felt uneasy. The patterns of the stained glass windows had been altered slightly to resemble runes in his spellbooks, the crimson flowers in the vase kept in the corner of the room were now a deep green, and even the carving on the wooden door to the room was different. He looked around and thought, for a moment, that he saw a flash of fire.

"Show yourself!" he commanded.

A voice called to him from outside his massive door. "Loki?"

Loki snapped his head up, looking at himself and his room in confusion. Rising off the bed, Loki walked to the center of the room. Thor cautiously pushed open the door and peered his head, located Loki in the center of the room before entering.

"Loki, is everything all right?" Thor asked.

After a half-second of hesitation, Loki answered. "Yes, Thor. I'm fine."

Long years of being together had done nothing to change Thor's protective nature, and after almost two decades by each others' sides, Loki could never express how much he enjoyed spending time with his brother. But he was burdened by how protective Thor was of him sometimes. After the events with Algrim and Elderstahl, Loki had been initially fearful that Thor might still harbor some resentment for him. But his worries were quickly put to rest. Thor was always supportive of him, always smiling and stupidly happy, and he often went out of his way to do nice things for Loki or help with out with a prank or two.

"Are you sure?" Thor asked, looking around the room. "I was walking by and I heard noises. You were yelling."

"Well...Thor, tell me, does anything in the room seem strange to you?" Loki normally wouldn't want to worry his elder brother with something so trivial, but sometimes Thor simply wouldn't be satisfied until he heard what he wanted to hear.

"Strange?" Thor walked a lap around the room, looking high and low for anything unusual and finding nothing. "No, everything looks the same as it always does, Loki. Why?"

Loki paused for half a second, looking once around his bedchambers. Nothing felt wrong anymore. Everything was normal. "Never mind it. I must have just been having a nighmare." He didn't like to think of them as nightmares, because they brought back the pain. When he and Thor were little, their nightmares were either soothed by each other or by Algrim.

Thor asked, "Do you want me to stay with you tonight?"

"Thank you, brother, but I'm sure I'll be fine," Loki said, rolling his eyes. "I'll see you for breakfast. Good night."

Thor didn't look convinced with Loki's words, but if he'd wanted to press, he didn't let on. He wished his brother good night as he walked out of the bedchamber and shut the door, leaving Loki alone in the room with his thoughts.

And the faintest smell of smoke.

Loki's eyelids suddenly grew heavy and he collapsed to his bed.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

Thor stood proudly on the balcony outside his room as he did every morning, watching the sun rise to usher in the new day. He had slept well enough after visiting Loki, but he found his mind going back to his brother's question of the strangeness of his room. Loki hadn't had a nightmare since he was a child—or since the death of Algrim—and there was no great crisis in Asgard that should be worrying him.

He pushed it from his mind as his guard arrived to escort him to the dining hall, where Loki was waiting at a table. The brothers had made it a point to see each other every morning for breakfast, and it was a routine that had gone happily uninterrupted since they were children.

"Good morning, brother," Loki said as Thor sat down. "Did you sleep well?"

"Aye. And you?"

"I'm well. I slept peacefully after you visited me. Thank you for that, by the way," Loki said.

"It was my pleasure."

Thor was a bit confused that Loki had had difficultly sleeping. He usually exhausted himself doing magic and slept peacefully. Unless he had a really bad nightmare, nothing would've kept him up. Thor wanted to ask more, but he decided that Loki would come to him when he wanted to talk. Until then he would avoid an argument by not pressing.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

The rest of the day passed without event. Loki practiced earth magic with Lorelei and Amora until dinner, where he was met with Thor and the Warriors Three recounting the events of their sparring match, a story of how some newbie had sent Fandral on his back in seconds. After dinner, Loki did his daily lap around the palace, visited briefly with his brother and parents, and finally retired to his chambers for some much-needed rest.

"Good night, Loki!" Thor called from down the hallway.

"Good night, Thor," Loki responded, waiting for his brother to go out of sight before turning back to his door.

He opened the door with caution and slowly entered his empty room, finding nothing out of the ordinary. He walked to the center of his room, looked all around for a second time just to be certain, and then threw himself back on his bed, readying himself with his spellbook to study.

 _Earth magic is particurally helpful. It can be either a weapon or a healing magic. There are three types of earth magic: rock, wood, and plant. Each has their own usefulness, and each can be used by any type of sorcerer. Depending on what affiliations the sorcerer ties themself with, earth magic can KiLl EvErYoNe AnD sUcK oUt ThEiR iNtEsTiNaL gOoDnEsS_.

Loki stared at the page in confusion, watching the lines on the paper rearrange themselves before his eyes, the author's neat penmanship becoming something barely legible. Scratches ripped across the pages before his eyes.

As soon as he took his eyes off a single chicken-scratched word, the letters fell from their place and floated around the bottom of the page.

_AREN'T YOU GETTING A BIT TIRED OF PRACTICING SUCH TRIVIAL THINGS, PRINCE LOKI?_

Loki rose to his feet and stood defensively as the ink began to leak off the page in a long, continuous string. The ink began to twist around, zagging and curving on the floor as it stretched to form an outline of a smokey creature with a huge body, curved horns like some kind of cow, slimey gray teeth, and bright crimson eyes. A smokey tail tipped with spikes thrashed back and forth in front of Loki's face, and the spikes grazed him now and again. They actually hurt.

"You are _killing_ me, Prince Loki!"

Loki aimed his glowing hand at the silhouette, daring the creature to try something. "Who are you?"

The smokey creature said, not unkindly, "Oh, don't be so mean. Of course you know me. I was the one who helped you get rid of that annoying Dark Elf, remember? I think some thanks are in order over here, my prince."

Loki's eyes flashed but his heart stopped. " _Surtur?!_ "

The demon's smile glittered like a single row of white spikes in Jotunheim.

Loki felt an unfamiliar chill race through him; it started at his spine and zipped through him like an archer's arrow. "T-this isn't possible. Father defeated you!" He couldn't wrap his head around it. "How are you _here?_ "

"Your father isn't as strong as you think," Surtur answered. "You should know that by now, especially after that pathetic little display six months ago. What was _with_ that, by the way? But oh, I'm rambling on when I should be explaining myself, right? Forgive me. How rude of me."

"Whatever you're up to, it won't work," Loki threatened.

Surtur backed his smokey body in front of the wood in the tiny fireplace in Loki's chambers. "Why, my prince, I'm hurt. I haven't done a thing. Do you really think so poorly of me because of what you heard in a story? A fairy tale? I mean, do you even really know me? Try learning who people are before you start making judgments about them. It's very rude."

"Enough!" Loki bit back. "My father defeated you, monster. Now why don't you go back to whatever cesspit you crawled from?"

"Do you even hear yourself?" Surtur yawned, raising his ashen fists into the air. "I'd almost think it was an act if you didn't look so serious." Loki stood his ground, glaring at the creature his father had killed years ago. Surtur's eyes flashed bright orange. "What's the matter? Wolf got your tongue? Don't tell me that I struck a nerve. Oh, I assure I did not mean to offend." The fire spirit stuck his tongue out at Loki before vanishing in a puff of ruby smoke.

"If my father didn't defeat you, then why haven't you come to Asgard yet?" Loki demanded.

There was a stunned silence.

A sly smirk crossed the prince of mischief's lips as a realization came to him. "You can't, can you? You're weak. You simply don't have the power to be a threat to anyone anymore. You're as pathetic as you are ugly."

"Okay, now you're just being cruel."

The voice had come from behind Loki's head, right in his ear. Loki snapped his head around, but found nothing there. Turning back to his bed, he shouted in agony. His left leg buckled underneath him as he strained to open his eyes, seeing his bedroom seizure and flicker with agonizingly bright colors, as if it were trying to fight Surtur's unholy prescence. Then all at once, it ended, leaving the younger son of Odin physically and mentally exhausted.

"You're weak," Loki panted, his vision blurring. Simply keeping his eyes open became a struggle.

"Weak? Please. I am much more powerful than you or your pathetic father could possibly imagine," came Surtur's harsh voice. The spirit clutched his sharp nails around Loki's face, forcing him to look up at him, into his hypnotizing crimson eyes. "I want to see you, Prince Loki. I want to watch as you tear your comfortable little life to pieces. I want to see you back everyone you ever loved into a corner. I will see you destroy the very world you hold dear. I will see you break down those you love."

Loki tried to jerk his head away, but found himself unable to break free of the smokey demon's grip grip.

Surtur roared, losing all playful demeanor, "I want to see you laugh as you begin to enjoy it all. I want to see you on the edge of ruin, with your father's beloved kingdom in flames and all of Asgard under your heel! I want to see you lost in the world I help you make, without a single friend by your side. I want to see you crush your beloved elder brother, the Mighty Thor, into the dust like an insect! I want to see your father suffer at your hand for what he did to me all those years ago! And when the great king of Asgard awakens from the Odinsleep to find his kingdom in ruins and begs you to come to your senses and change it all back..."

Surtur released Loki, who collapsed to his knees with an agonized grunt, hands flying to his throat.

In a cold voice, like the grate of a Frost Giant's nails on the glass outside a frosted window, Surtur hissed in Loki's ear, "I want you to laugh in his face and run him through with a sword made of fire, of the betrayal he himself created. I want to see Odin Allfather murdered by his own son."

Loki's world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _To Be Continued_...


	3. The Flames Consume Everything...Even My Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Please...Please, I'm scared!" the young child cried as the fire blazed even larger.
> 
> _Prince Loki. You should escape. You must survive_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter...

_Muspellheim was perfection. My world was perfection. Not that false world created by Odin Borson and his cheap fantasies. Those gods don't know anything—despite what their beloved king claims. He's not so smart when you get right down to it._

_Intelligence is based on experience, strength, and magic. Odin Borson has all of these, but not nearly as much as I. Compared to me Odin Borson is a young child wandering the darkness with his eyes shut up tight. He can pretend to be all-knowing, but the reality of the situation is that he doesn't know half of what he claims._

_I adore perfection. At one point in my life, I thought Odin Borson to be the picture of perfection. But only when I was rejected did I realize that he wasn't so perfect. There is no such thing as perfection with the gods._

_They are false beings._

_However, that false being Odin Borson managed to push me into the ground with a single blast of that spear of his, created from magic by the dwarves. I guess I'm the one who's false—the one who can't be bothered to try and grow up. I was born a monster, and a monster I'll remain. Monsters can't be false, right?_

—The Fire Demon Surtur, the Lord of Muspellheim

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

It all happened so strangely. One instant, he was a falcon, flying high and free toward the sun. And in an instant, the bloody red moon crossed the sky and eclipsed the celestial body, blanketing the world in darkness. Blackness as far as the eye could see. Snow began to fall. Loki slowly twirled as he silently tumbled into the empty abyss. He had no magic to save himself from the fall—falcons had no magic to speak of.

He flapped, trying to keep himself up. No good. His wings were made of stone. Fear swelled inside of him. Loki kicked his legs wildly, grabbing at anything in the darkness that could rescue him. He couldn't die like this. Not like this.

And then he was there.

Thor fluttered just above, smiling down at him. He stretched his arm in front of Loki's face, offering his assistance to his younger brother. Loki reached his hand out to take his elder brother's hand as if it were a life-saving rope.

And then when their fingers were only inches apart, Thor yanked his hand cruelly out of the way. He smiled down at Loki with brilliant white teeth, eyes glowing red in the darkness, and he asked, "Just why should I help you, little brother? You're so pathetic, I'd rather die."

_BANG BANG_.

"Brother! Wake up! Amora will kill you if you're late for your lessons!"

Loki slowly lifted his head, vision blurry and his mind fuzzy from the lingering nightmare. He had no idea why he hadn't talked to Thor about any of it yet; perhaps it was simply too embarrassing for a son of Odin to crawl to his big brother and cry over some nightmares, especially when they were so close to adulthood.

"Ugh, just give me five more minutes."

In an instant, Loki was wide awake. The prince stumbled out of bed, confused and outraged at the sight of that horrible beast messily curled in his sheets.

"Surtur, you—"

The fire demon's ghost silenced him with a tired groan and a dismissive wave of his smoke hand, grabbing an armful of fabric and vanishing beneath the blankets. Though Loki would have loved nothing more than to kick the malformed creature out of his bed and stomp him to a bloody mess beneath his boot, he noticed something that made him pause. Despite the abnormally cool air outside, his room was very warm. A single bead of sweat trickled down his neck and settled at the base of his throat. Looking down at the sleeping spirit on his pillow, Loki made a realization. Surtur was much more than just a spirit, if he could manipulate the air in his bedroom.

Stepping as gingerly as he could, Loki opened his door without so much as the faintest creak escaping, and silently slipped into the hallway. He breathed deeply, enjoying the crisp bite of an early morning's air. He felt better than he had in days and he was going to share it with anyone he could.

"Good morning, Your Highness," a maid nodded respectfully.

Loki stopped for a rare moment and smiled warmly at the unnamed maiden. "Indeed. It is, isn't it today?"

He continued to make his way down the hall with an uncharacteristic spring to his step, humming a little tune from his childhood as he marveled at how clear and gorgeous everything seemed to be in the dwindling moments of the night. The only thing that could make it better was watching it shimmer the light of Asgard's wonderful sunlight.

" _I can't believe you_."

Loki stopped in his tracks as a sharp pain shot from his head to his stomach, and vomit rose in his throat. He threw his head down and forced himself to swallow the disgusting bile, the acidic taste lingering in his mouth. Gasping for fresh air and cringing at the awful feeling in his throat, burning like a fire under his skin, he glared up at Surtur, who seemed to be just as angry with Loki as Loki was with him.

"Don't tell me you're trying to run off," the fire demon said, feigning insult.

Loki did his best to ignore the spirit as he followed his every step down the rest of the hall, looping and hovering inches from Loki's nose, making faces and grotesque noises. _Stay calm_ , Loki told himself. He couldn't make a scene there, not in front of all his servants.

"Oh, you Asgardians are all the same," Surtur wailed melodramatically. "You say such cruel things, never act kind, and then when we start to make a connection, you abandon me."

He swung his hand and batted Surtur across the face. Loki frowned as he didn't seem to hurt the spirit, only amuse him furtur. Smacking his lips to try to coerce the terrible taste out of his mouth, he trudged to Seid Tower.

Loki mentally kicked himself as he practiced that entire day. On most days, he would have been able to beat Amora and pass her tests without struggle. But because of Surtur's constant annoyance, he was thrown to his back at least six times by Amora's less-than-talented little sister Lorelei. It was humiliating, to say the least, but he blamed it on a bad night's sleep and a general lethargy. His mentor forgave him this time, but Loki recognized the sharp tone in her words. He got the message: _Practice like that again and I'll send you to the moon_. He made a mental note not to anger Amora in the future, knowing far well that when she made promises, threatening or no, she kept them.

As soon as his day's practice was over—cut short because Amora decided he should have a day off to "get himself together"—Loki marched down the stairs to the Training Arena where his brother and the rest of the Warriors trained every single day. He groaned when something like poison seeped into his mouth from his throat.

"I need to get this taste out of my mouth," he spat viciously. "Your presence is making me _sick_."

Surtur's voice echoed in the back of his head, making the taste much worse. "Oh, you are getting nasty lately," he cooed, amused and wicked at once. "No wonder everyone calls you a silvertongue. We really need to get you some manners, my lord."

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

"That is not true!" Thor laughed loudly as the two sons of Odin walked the white bridge toward Asgard's main square, watching the city come to life

Loki answered, "It's the truth. I really think Amora has a crush on you, Thor." He elbowed his brother in the ribs, bruising himself more than anything else. "She's always giving you the eye when you walk in the room."

"She does not," Thor chuckled, bumping his brother as lightly as he could, as not to injure him, in the ribs with his elbow. "If anything, she likes you. I mean, you're the one she was trying to kiss. So, did you have anything planned to do today? Loki?"

Loki stared in horror with his mouth agape, watching as the beautiful city of Asgard burned. Fire roared beyond control and thick, dark smoke strangled the air. He heard every Asgardian screaming for help, for safety, as pegasi frantically tried to escape their cages to avoid the inferno, furiously beating their wings before their lungs filled with the poison and they dropped like insects. Loki opened his mouth as if he wanted to scream.

"Loki!" Thor shouted.

Everything returned to how it had been. Nothing was burning.

Shaking it off as a trick of the light, Loki replied, staring at the city as if in a trance, "I was thinking about seeing if there's anything interesting in the shops. Do a little window shopping. See what the city has to offer."

"That sounds fun," Thor said quickly, seeming not to notice Loki's bizarre expression. "I heard that there's a new weapons store that opened up last week."

Loki blinked out of his daze and grinned mischievously at his elder brother. "Aren't you a little old to be playing with such cheap weapons, Thor? Father would have a heart attack if he saw you training with a low-class weapon."

"I'm just looking!" Thor defended. "There's nothing wrong with looking at lesser-class weapons."

Loki laughed. "Maybe we'll see if there are any brain-teaser puzzles to help boost your intelligence," he said, loving the way Thor paused and turned pale as he suddenly remembered. "You have a test to study for. About the Nine Realms. It's next week, right?"

"Ugh, don't remind me," Thor sniffed, holding his head up indignantly.

"Well, if you studied more, there wouldn't be any problems."

"You know, not everyone's a whiz with book smarts like you are, Loki."

He threw his head back with a loud, crackling laugh. "Of course. Because if even half of these Asgardians were as intelligent as I was, we probably wouldn't be getting in all these petty little conflicts, now would we?"

Thor made a face. "Insults will get you nowhere when I take the throne."

"We shall see, brother of mine," Loki grinned. "We shall see."

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

Thor and Loki nodded casually at the starstruck women and children in the streets of Asgard, making idle conversation whenever they were each waitng for their other brother to finish browsing the inside of a store. Loki was happily watching the crowds look his way and bow as he waited for Thor to finish "inspecting" the new weapon workshop, when a small child slowly slid up beside the prince.

"So, Your Highness...what's it like?" the young child asked hesitantly, staring up at Loki with enormous pink-gray eyes.

The prince smiled down at the young child. Loki usually didn't enjoy being fawned over by the adults, but young children he enjoyed. They were so innocent, and were always one for a good prank. Plus, the kids had a better sense of humor than their stuck-up parents.

He knelt low so he could talk to her face-to-face. "What do you mean, Cressida?" Loki asked.

He wanted to laugh when he saw the look of pure exhilaration on the child's pudgy face, splashed with bright orange freckles, when Prince Loki himself said her name without her ever having introduced herself.

"Everything!" she said. "Being a prince, having such powerful magic, living in the palace! It must be so much fun! I wish I could be just like you. Only, I don't think I'd be a prince. I'd be a princess!"

The child chattered at a mile a minute, making Loki bite back a chuckle. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small crowd of Asgardians gathering around. Even though the citizens of Asgard lived so very close to their princes and their king and queen, it was still rare to see Loki out of the castle nowadays—he spent most of his days in the library, if he wasn't practicing his magic in Seid Tower, alone or with Amora and her sister—and the sight of seeing the youngest son of Odin, usually deemed the quiet antisocial one taking a personal interest in such a young child, with no important significance, was an endearing one.

"Well, being a prince is fine. But you shouldn't set your sights so low," Loki said, making the girl tilt her head in confusion. "You're still so young, the world is full of opportunities for you. Being a princess is a good goal, I suppose, but wouldn't you rather be something with a bit more to it?"

The crowd seemed to enjoy the response, nodding happily in approval, but Loki wasn't concerned about that. It warmed the prince' heart to pass on wisdom to a younger generation.

"And don't ever make the mistake that you can't be special without powers. Asgardians who aren't of the royal family are some of the most intelligent, hard-working, gifted people you'll ever meet. Magic in the House of Odin causes people to get a huge ego. Just look at Thor, for example. His ego's so huge you can see it, and he can barely control his magic at all!"

The little girl giggled.

Loki continued, "The powers you possess are somewhere within yourself. Who knows? Maybe someday you can come to train in Seid Tower with me and Amora. I'm sure she'd love teaching you. She's a bit stuck-up and mean, but once you get to know her she's actually very sweet."

Loki smiled in satisfaction when he saw the young Asgardian child look at her hands with newfound reverence, and silently noting that a few adult Asgardians in the crowd were looking at their own callused hands with some pride.

Thor happily marched out of the workshop with a small box partially hidden in the belt around his waist. His eyes widened in surprise at the sudden crowd gathered around his younger brother, happy he was being social.

"Don't be afraid to put yourself out there, brother," Thor said as Loki rose to his feet and the two sons of Odin moved through the crowd as the citizens parted to let their princes through. "You're getting some looks from back there," Thor observed as he checked over his shoulder to see the lingering crowd give some confused glances and whispering. "What did you say to them?"

"Oh, nothing. It's nothing."

Thor looked at his little brother in intrigue and then quickly back at the crowd of confused Asgardians. "Hey, is it just me, or does it smell like the kitchen out here?" Thor said suddenly, raising his head and sniffing the air suspiciously.

Turning around again, Thor gaped in terror as he saw a tower of flames twisting to the sky. The heat burned the young prince's eyes, forcing him to turn away. Loki stared at the inferno in a trance, feeling a cold sense of dread twist and turn in his stomach. The sensation grew worse, and the youngest son of Odin dashed toward the burning building with Thor right in front of him.

It was absolute panic, with screaming Asgardians stomping in place in indecision, but above all the chatter and screams a single cry echoed out: there was someone still trapped inside. A few bold men tried to charge the door to rescue the trapped child, but the overwhelming flames beat them back.

"What happened here?" Thor called authoritatively.

Two frightened older Asgardians that appeared to be a couple ran to the princes, the pressure of the situation having driven them to tears.

"My son! Princes, please help!" the woman begged, her enormous eyes welling up in tears. "Prince Thor, Prince Loki, please save my son!" The woman collapsed into grief as her husband wrapped his arms around her.

Not wasting an instant, Loki charged through the flames, the blaze seeming to part to allow him entry before immediately reforming and stopping Thor from following after.

Thor stumbled back, closing his eyes tight to shield them from the searing heat and rushed back to the crowd of citizens watching in alarm. Thor threw the small box he was carrying to the ground and called upon his magic and aimed his hand towards the palace. He sent out a blast of energy toward Seid Tower, what little magic he knew how to control, and hoped it would be enough to summon at least one big rainstorm.

Guards and members of the Einherjar appeared out of nowhere and swarmed around him. "Your Highness!"

"We have an emergency!" Thor barked. His posture became rigid, like the warrior he was within, and he rose up so he towered above even the tallest Einherjar. "Loki is inside and every second is of vital importance! We can't permit this fire to spread! Gather as many sorceresses as you can! I am calling for an unscheduled rainstorm in Asgard, immediately! Now MOVE!"

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

Loki clenched his teeth and held his hand out to shield his eyes from the searing heat. He tried to breathe into his cupped hands to help filter the poisonous air, coughing violently as the smoke filled his lungs. He lowered his stance, calling out over the roaring fire to find if anyone was in there. The flames and the smoke clouded his vision, and all the while a soft voice called in the back of his head to flee.

"Hello! Is there anybody in here?"

A shrill scream cut through the air as a support beam burned away and snapped, the wooden block crashing to the floor in front of the prince and vanishing to the fire's all-consuming power. Loki just barely had the strength and the time to dodge it.

"I hear you! Where are you?" Loki shouted into the flame.

"Please, anyone! Help me!"

Loki shouted back over the roar of the flame. "I want to help! Tell me where you are! Help me to find you!"

_Loki, you must escape_.

He coughed violently as the smoke became thicker and blacker than soot, clouding his vision. His thoughts became hazy as his lungs were slowly strangled by the inky grip of the poisonous cloud. He thought of trying a water spell, but he wasn't yet good at summoning water without a source. That was one thing he praised in Thor, though water seemed to be all he could summon to any sort of degree, however minimal. Loki himself wasn't too good at it yet...not like his other magic. And there wasn't enough time.

"Please...Please, I'm scared!" the young child cried as the fire blazed even larger.

_Prince Loki. You should escape. You must survive_.

Ignoring the voices demanding and screaming in the back of his head, he cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted, "Hello? Are you there?"

Loki felt a hollow pit in his stomach. He wasn't a stranger to fear; he was as scared as anyone when the Frost Giants attacked, and he worried his father wouldn't make it when Algrim hurt him in an act of pure betrayal. But Loki was terrified, and it was because, not for the first time, he was afraid for himself. But what disgusted him was that he was more afraid for himself than he was for the child.

"Please! Someone, please!"

There was a loud groan from above as the ceiling began to buckle from the heat. And all at once, time came to a stop. Loki saw the child quivering, curled up in a dark corner of the room, his long golden hair tarnished with soot. He looked a little like Thor did as a child, only more plain. If he acted fast, he could throw himself over the young child.

But behind him: daylight. Safety. Life. Cutting through the darkness of the building and shining brighter than the hellish inferno that sought to engulf both of them. And from the flames, a hypnotic voice of some dark demon hissed.

_Survive_.

Loki exploded from the doorway, leaping over the flames and hitting the ground just as the house collapsed from the fire eating at it.

Gasping for air, swallowing gulp after gulp of the pure substance in hopes of quelling the poison in his lungs, Loki squinted his eyes to readjust to the light and saw a chain of Asgardians passing buckets back and forth and dumping the water onto the collapsed building.

There was a rumble of thunder as Thor's storm spell finally began to work and dark clouds appeared over the city. With several mighty booms, the storm broke and the rains began. Sorceresses scrambled over to the drenched rubble, working together to levitate the ruined building. Loki saw Amora and her sister Lorelei working frantically to lift stones out of the way.

"Loki! Thank Gaia you're all right!"

Thor ran to his brother from the crowd and embraced him tight. If Loki noticed his brother, he didn't react, staring straight ahead at the destroyed house, the soft patter of the rain belying the tragedy and chaos that had just struck the realm of the gods.

Watching as the destroyed building was slowly shifted, Loki felt himself fall backward and become wrapped in a thick cushion, like he was sinking into a cloud. Perhaps it was from breathing the smoke, but his thoughts were hazy and unfocused. He had seen the little boy in the corner, that much he was certain of.

A muffled voice called out Loki's name.

Had he seen the child? Of course he would have helped if he did. He wouldn't really leave one of his subjects to die. One of his own. He wouldn't have let Thor die if it were him in the fire, not that Thor would need rescue. Would he really sacrifice his own life to save these common Asgardians? _Of course._

_...Wouldn't I?_

"Brother?" Thor's faint voice repeated.

Wouldn't he? He couldn't have seen the child. There was no way he could have. The heat was too great. The fire burned his eyes. The building collapsed. It was entirely possible that the child escaped. He could have gotten out on his own. He could have died.

"Prince Loki!" The voice was sharp and demanding, drawing Loki back to himself. He looked up, rain slipping off of his nose, staring into the terrified eyes of the commoner mother that had begged him to help. "Please, Prince Loki. Where is my son?"

His mouth moved silently, working against the haze, trying without success to force himself to speak.

"Where is my son?"

There was a rumble of thunder, and the sound of a mother weeping. The crowd gathered around the lamenting mother, who kept her heated white glare locked on Loki's face. He couldn't take his eyes away from hers, as if she were some witch who'd caught him in a spell.

Her voice was hardly more than a hoarse whisper, growing into a growl. "He's dead. My son is dead. You killed him. Just like you did when you killed that Dark Elf. You were here to witness the destruction of a home, of a family. And you did nothing."

Loki was silent, as if the mother had taken an ax and smacked him upside the head. He still could not make the words come, no matter how hard he thought and tried. He could only continue to stare through the mother.

"Brother? Are you all right?" Thor asked, bumping his little brother in the ribs.

The mother exploded with enough fury to make Loki flinch. "He praised your name in good times and bad, and worshipped you like you were Odin himself. And when he finally needed you, you couldn't help him! Tell me, Loki, what use are you?" Her voice went to a dark echo, rebounding in the hollows of his mind. "Where were you when the Frost Giants assaulted Asgard? You sat there in the palace like a bitch in heat and waited for your brother to think of something! What about when the Dark Elf tried to kill Odin? You stood there and watched as your brother fought him. You killed him in revenge, not for the well being of the kingdom!"

"HOW DARE YOU!" Loki finally shouted, the attack on his family pushing it too far.

Thor jumped. "Brother?"

But the mourning mother's fury was too powerful to be extinguished by that. "Didn't you think to help us common Asgardians? Are we just not worth it to you, O Mighty Prince? What does it matter to you if we die now or later? As long as your precious family is secure, who cares what happens to anyone else's?"

"That's not—" Loki choked on his words, a blinding pain in his head silencing him.

"Brother!"

"Were you powerless against Algrim when he came to kill King Odin and destroy Asgard? Or did you just not care enough to try?"

Loki clenched his eyes shut and turned his head away, more tears stinging his eyes and mixing with the rain.

The mother shouted through her own tears, "You're such a disappointment! You're a disgrace to Asgard! You can't even save a little child from a fire! My son! My beautiful, darling son is dead! And you didn't even try to save him! Odin damn you, Loki Odinson! Damn you to Hel!"

Loki took a fearful stumble back, disturbing a small puddle that had settled. He looked from the spiteful mother, to the ruined house, and to the sobbing father. He felt a prodding at his ribs, and looked into the wide azure-blue eyes of his elder brother.

He fell back even further, his breathing growing faster and shallower, and hopped to his feet and broke into a run in half a second, escaping to the Tower as fast as his feet could carry him.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

Behind him, Loki heard Thor's voice echo off the high stones of the Tower. "Brother!"

Loki stopped his retreat and turned over his shoulder to see Thor racing after him. Thor looked down at his little brother in grave concern. Loki's legs were trembling and his eyes were wide and filled with tears and he looked to be on the verge of a complete meltdown.

"Loki," Thor murmured as quietly as he could, "what troubles you?"

That was all it took. Loki fell to his knees, sobbing weakly. Thor was terrified. Ever since he'd been recruited into the Sorcerer's class, Loki had never broken down. The only time Thor had ever seen him like this was moments after he'd used Elderstahl to take Algrim's life. But even when they were young children, Thor had never seen Loki this vulnerable before. Thor fell to his knees in front of his brother and grasped him by the shoulders. "Loki," he said, shaking him lightly, "talk to me! What has you so distressed?"

Loki wrapped his thin arms around his brother's neck and wept onto his shoulder. "She's right, Thor...Everything she said is true." Between his deep inhales for breath and his bitter sobs, Loki's voice and his words were barely understandable. "Oh gods, Thor, what use am I?"

"She? Loki, who's she? What are you talking about?"

"The mother!" Loki blurted through his loud mournful sobs. "The mother of that little boy I let die in that fire!"

Thor seized his shoulders rather fiercely, drew him back so they were inches apart, and demanded in a voice laced with terrified confusion, "Loki, _what_ mother? _What_ child? There was no one there! No one was even _in_ the fire!"

_What?_

Loki reeled his head back and stared into his brother's terrified and concerned azure eyes. Above their heads the rainstorm slowed to a standstill, and Loki's shoulders loosened. "Look, Thor, the rain is finally clearing. I think I'll take a walk in the garden. I haven't done that in a while."

Loki slowly stood up, using the wet edges of his cape to clear his tears. Then he walked casually toward the gardens in the castle.

Thor followed at a short distance, watching on silently as Loki marveled at the pleasant weather with red-rimmed eyes.

Loki turned to him and said with a forced smile, "I'm sorry. I'm just tired. I must've been hallucinating. Magic will do that to you something. I'm glad we got to spend time together today, Thor. We're both so busy nowadays. Please, just put that little episode out of your mind, all right? I'm fine now. Really."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _To Be Continued..._


	4. Let Me Know If Real Power's Worth It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surtur was driving him mad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter...

_My battle with the Allfather has always been my defining story._

_How we swung at one another for days, tiring each other out; how he eventually tired me enough and tricked me into exposing my chest, granting him the chance to strike a vicious blow at my chest and send me to my demise._

_But they'll never guess that I didn't go down easily._

_I stayed._

_And I waited_.

—The Fire Demon Surtur, the Lord of Muspellheim

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

Surtur was driving him mad.

Loki hadn't gotten a moment's rest in three days. The lord of Muspellheim was always watching him, sneering and making snide comments. Loki no longer knew what was real and what was a hallucination brought on by the demon hovering in his line of sight.

One day he awoke believing his bedchamber was on fire. Only Thor rushing in and assuring him all was well convinced him there was no danger. Another morning he hallucinated that his breakfast was the body of one of the servants, and he was sent to the healing chambers after he vomitted all over the floor. And while he watched Thor spar with Sif, he imagined that Sif had sliced his brother's head off and went at her blinding with magic. Thor had lunged and gripped his wrists, prying him off Sif before he killed her. Loki fled to his bedchambers without going to see a healer. None of them could've told him what was wrong.

He already knew.

He was being followed by a monster.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

 _TWO DAYS LATER_...

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

Loki was already eating his breakfast in the dining hall when Thor arrived.

The god of thunder immediately knew there was something wrong. It seemed as if a black cloud hung over his little brother. He did not say anything though, as this wasn't the first time Loki had been in one of his moods, so frequent in the last six months.

As he lifted bites of mutton that seemed almost as light and fluffy as clouds to his mouth, Thor kept taking sidelong glances at his brother across the table. _I should say something. He always seems so lonely nowadays, but I don't know what I can do to help...Mother had warned me that he may become lonely and withdrawn, but not like this_...

However, Loki noticed the stares his elder sibling gave him. He ground his teeth together and tried to ignore it, eating his food slowly.

But Thor's glances did not cease. Loki finally had enough. He hopped up and shouted, "WHAT?", slamming his fist on the table, causing his elder brother to recoil in shock. A moment of silence went by before Loki stood and snorted, "Goodbye, Thor."

Stomping off out of the dining hall, the god of mischief and magic could hear Thor calling out behind him. But he didn't answer him, didn't throw another look over his shoulder. He didn't want Thor's pity, not this time. It had done him no good last time, what good could it do him now?

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

_What is going on with him...? My brother, what pains you? I am sorry I cannot be there for you whenever you have need of me...Please be alright..._

Thor was at the door of the dining hall, yearning for his brother to come back. To talk with him. To tell him what was wrong. He wished to offer his brother a shoulder to cry on, as he did six months prior at the death of Algrim, and a few hours where they could at least be together alone as they were when they were children.

Throughout the entire day, Thor's dark thoughts chased him.

He worried for Loki, feared that his silence at breakfast may have made things worse. His mannerisms at training class were half-assed at best, and he was knocked to the filthy ground at least six times by some wannabe warrior. His trainer scolded him, and he muttered something about trying harder. His thoughts weren't on training. He barely acknowledged Sif's concerned frown.

Even at dinner, Loki was nowhere to be seen. He wasn't in his bedchambers, though they may have been emptied shortly before.

Thor spent the rest of his free hours searching all the hiding spots in the castle that he knew Loki to have hidden within in the past when he was upset, but he was nowhere to be found. He even tried Seid Tower where Loki liked to spend all of his time when he wasn't studying in the library, but that too proved to be a failure.

As he watched the moon begin to rise, Thor could feel his younger brother's magic at work somewhere close by, and he knew that Loki was practicing. He hoped it would help clear his mind, if only a little.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

"Sorry I'm late, Amora," Loki said sheepishly as he took his usual spot on the other end of the magic circle the sorcerers used to spar. "I was..." The words quickly died in the prince's throat, still too proud or ashamed to tell his tutor the truth.

Amora smiled slightly and waved her hand at him. "Don't worry about it so much, Loki," she said. "I understand."

"Oh, of course she understands."

Loki looked straight ahead at his teacher, not reacting to the smokey spirit running his fingers through Amora's pinpoint blond hair. She cocked her head at his blank stare, and Loki smiled to reassure her that all was well.

Surtur grinned at him and said in a whisper, "She's hot, right?"

He turned his face away in white horror as Amora was suddenly lit on fire. He knew it was an illusion, and sure enough when he looked back the fire was gone. Amora was speaking to her sister Lorelei about what lesson they would be learning today. Surtur had retired to one of the broken pillars on the other end of the Tower, watching Loki with barely-closed ruby eyes. He didn't mind. He preferred the little beast as far away from him as possible.

"All right." Amora turned back to Loki. "Earth magic. You studied, yes?"

"Of course." He looked out the window to the afternoon sky and watched as bloody faces floated into his vision. "When have I ever slacked on studying? Come on, Amora—I'm not Thor."

"Yes, well." She eyed him as if she didn't believe him. "Then get on the other end of the circle with Lorelei."

He did as he was instructed without another word. That was how it worked with Amora. When his instructor gave a command, he obeyed without question. It had always been that way since he enrolled in the sorcery class several years ago. He'd learned the hard way that you never questioned Amora's orders—not unless you wanted to wake up with your hair manifested into a wriggling pile of snakes that didn't wear off for three days.

"Are you just going to sit there and let her judge you?" Surtur hissed in his ear.

He glared across the Tower at the smokey beast, then right back to Lorelei. His mentor's younger sister stood on the opposite end of the chalk circle Amora had drawn earlier that morning. Her ruby curls fell around her shoulders like a halo. She was dressed in her most comfortable blue dress, cut low and showing off her thighs and rapidly growing bust.

Loki hardly liked to admit it, but he'd always had a tiny crush on Lorelei. Sure, he liked Amora too, but it was obvious that she liked Thor. And Lorelei was always so nice to him, especially when they were practicing their magic. She wasn't particurally good at magic yet, but Loki noticed that she was improving each time they dueled in the ring.

He gave a little shriek and jumped as a loud pop exploded by his ear. Lorelei and Amora instantly turned to him with their eyebrows raised, eyes wide.

"Loki?" Amora asked. "Are you all right?"

"Fine." He waved his hand nervously.

He could tell by their expressions that they didn't really believe him, but wanted to respect him by not questioning it. When they turned away, he cast a glare over at Surtur, who was grinning wickedly at him.

"Wait, where's the bag with the pig's meat that I brought?" Surtur mumbled to himself as he rummaged through a ruined burlap sack he'd carried around with him. He flew over and brushed his fingers in Lorelei's hair without the young sorceress seeming to notice. When he found nothing he crawled along the floor.

Loki took his eyes off the distracting beast, noticing that Amora had signaled for him and Lorelei to begin channeling their magic into the circle so they could practice. He let his gaze fall on Lorelei, who had her eyes closed tight, hands floating in front of her, nose wrinkled in concentration. She was adorable when she was trying to focus. Loki took a moment to marvel at her—her concentration, her desire to do well, to impress her sister, and to impress Loki by how hard she'd been practicing.

Loki wondered just how long it'd been since he'd practiced. Really, truly practiced. How long had it been since he'd spread his arms and let the magic flow around him like a ribbon, let it levitate him off the ground like an invisible set of wings.

"Never mind," Surtur squaked in his ear. "I'll just have some steak. Extra bloody!"

The magic currents caressing him from head to toe, his hair waving like the gentle tide of the ocean he rarely got to see. The wind of magic in his hair was like nothing else he ever felt in his life. It was the reason he enjoyed being a sorcerer more than a warrior. Warriors had no sense for magic, no sense for anything but the sword. Without it, what good were they? Loki would rather be good at magic, then learn to use a weapon.

"Hey, is anyone even paying _attention_ to me?"

Surtur's voice sounded miles away now, a faint whisper in the wind of his magic. He had to focus again. He had to. He closed his eyes tight against the nightmare. He slowly lifted his fingertips in anticipation, ready to leave the world below him.

" _That's it, Loki! Stop ignoring me!_ "

A cry of pain derailed Loki's fantasy and he looked down at his mentor's sister, terrified by what he saw. Lorelei was on the ground on her side with a pained expression. Loki looked at her ribs, where a small patch of blood was matting her dark blue uniform.

Amora ran and knelt beside her shuddering sister, wrapping her arms around her waist and trying to control her panic. "Lorelei! Oh, Lorelei! Lorelei, are you hurt?"

Lorelei lifted her head, his plump pink lips trembling. Loki stepped forward, white faced, reaching a hand to her. His mentor's sister fearfully backed away from her sparring partner, nearly breaking out of Amora's tight grip. Loki tried to pursue her, to apologize, to do anything he could. Heal her maybe? If that's what it took, so be it.

But Lorelei reeled back from his approach, flinching with every motion.

"I...I'm going to fix this, Lorelei, Amora," Loki assured, his voice trembling. If he didn't know himself so well, he would've believed he'd started crying. "I don't know how or when...but I'm going to handle this. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so _sorry_."

Without another word, Loki turned and ran from Seid Tower. Amora was left on her knees with her sobbing sister.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

The energy in the room was tangible as the younger prince of Asgard sat deep in meditational thought on his stone chair in Seid Tower, and the spirit of the Demon of Fire hovered in the shadows before him. Loki had never felt such a burning hatred for anything in his entire life.

In ancient times, less powerful beings such as the Dwarves and the Light Elves had taken on Surtur in hopes of destroying him; kings of old had sent soldier after soldier to bloody graves just to say they'd taken on Surtur's army; brother would cut down brother for a meager war of choice.

Now, Prince Loki Odinson, a child of the king who was a relic from those barbaric times in Asgardian history, was trying ever so hard just to ignore the creature responsible for countless years of suffering and hardship across time, whose calamitous powers had left no corner of the the Nine Realms unburned. There he was, an intruder in Loki's home, in his most sacred place, brimming with malicious excitement, grinning at him, his spiritual smokey body draped at his feet.

"Oh Loki? Lokiiii! Hey, Loki! Yoo-hoo. Are you in there? Midgard to Prince Loki! Hey, answer me!" Surtur shouted, bumping his smokey head against Loki's shin. "Alright, if you're not going to pay attention to me, I'm going to have to find another means of entertainment."

Before Loki could say a word, not that he was planning to, Surtur flashed before him, laying on his belly across Loki's lap and looking intently at his face. He was tapping one of his smokey claws against his gray fang.

"You know, I had an awful lot of fun with you today, Prince Loki. But your quick exit there ruined my fun. Though I gotta say that the way you snapped at your brother today was worth it." Surtur threw his smokey head back and laughed. "But I have to say that the most fun I had was watching that red-haired chick fall to the floor when you blasted her!"

His lip twitched into a frown, but Loki kept his eyes closed and focused on more pleasant thoughts. The ocean. The feel of the wind in his hair. The scent of the air when he snuck out of the castle to check out the forests.

Surtur's eyes flashed when he saw that Loki was still ignoring him, peering through half-lidded eyes. "Feel free to add to the conversation at any time," he said sarcastically.

"Sorry," Loki said curtly. "I do not associate with lesser beings."

"Ooh, aren't we the little drama king," Surtur said with smokey red smile, elbowing Loki playfully in the ribs before sitting up and poising himself on the prince's folded knee. "Okay, so that's my business, what's going on with you?"

Loki opened his eyes and growled. "Get away from me, Surtur. I'm not in the mood."

Surtur sighed and sprawled himself across Loki's lap. "You know, Loki, for the god of mischief with the reputation of a silver tongue, you're like a broken record nowadays. It's always 'I'm not in the mood,' or 'I'm tired of these games.' And I thought you called yourself a prankster. Mix it up a little bit! Kick back. Have some fun! We've got all the time in the world, you and I."

"Enough!" Loki shouted. He was at the limits of his patience and was beginning to lose focus and control over is magic—a crack had etched along the length of the stone wall. "I have seen you dance around my kingdom, unable to do anything, and I've had enough. I warn you, beast, slither back to whatever pit you dragged yourself from now, because if you decide to stick around, I will subject you to horrors so unimaginable I'll make myself sick if I even begin to spell them out for you!"

"You know, you're actually quite cute when you're mad," Surtur said.

Disgusted, Loki hopped out of his stone chair and stomped around the room, muttering to himself and occasionally kicking and shooting magic blasts of ice and fire at the walls. He spat curse after curse in any language he knew and shouted vicious insults, oozed hatred and screamed obsenities unbecoming of a prince.

Surtur watched with interest as Loki eventually curled back onto the chair and held his head in his hands. After several minutes of listening to the prince's calm breathing, he concluded that he was going to need to give the prince a gentle push in the right direction to get Loki under his influence. He softly stepped over to Loki's side, sat down next to him, looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, and then began to flick his stomach until Loki's attitude changed from this subdued calmness to blazing rage again. Loki was much more fun when he was stomping and screaming, dyed in chaos rather than in his father's sense of order.

Loki smacked him away, hand passing through his smokey face. His eyes were red and puffy though whatever tears he was going to cry had not fallen, and resumed his tantrum around the room. "You are a vile, twisted creature, and I am going to _slay_ you! Do you hear me?"

"Loud and clear, my lord prince," the spirit replied matter-of-factly. "But can you really blame me for acting this way? It's just what I am."

He stomped his foot so hard on the ground it rattled his bones. "You toy with my mind and my emotions, and then expect to be forgiven simply because that's 'just what you are?' What kind of demented son of a jotunn are you?!"

"Hit the nail on the head there, champ. 'Son of a jotunn'? Think of a better insult."

"Fuck you!"

"There we go! I love it!"

Loki turned his head away from the lounging spirit of Muspellheim and sat down to return his attention to the calming thoughts he'd been piling up. If he was going to get rid of Surtur, he certainly wasn't going to be doing it by sleeping. And if he wasn't going to get any sleep tonight, he could at least be productive.

"You seem upset. Some spell you can't figure out? If you want a straight answer, just ask me to help," Surtur offered.

Loki laughed so sharply it made Surtur flinch. Grinning in revulsion and pride for making the Fire Lord wince, Loki hissed, "Never. I am a prince of Asgard and a son of Odin. I don't need to beg anyone for help, especially not from the likes of you!"

"Oh, that's right," Surtur clucked as he lurched over him. "The youngest son of Odin Allfather doesn't need anyone's help. Why would you? You're obviously so much more capable than anyone else, am I right? What could they tell you that you don't already know?"

"Stop it."

"You've been practicing your magic for nearly two decades without trouble, and you're quite good. One of the best Asgard has to offer. But I bet it's easier when there's no family members working at the same goal as you and messing up everything you've worked for, right?"

"I said _stop it_."

Surtur went on, regardless. "But it gets kind of useless, right? After all, what good is being number one at something when you can never be Number One? There's not much else you can do when you're the youngest child of a man who will one day pass his throne to the eldest." Surtur demonstrated his point by holding up two fingers, one higher than the other. "Your brother is going to be crowned the king of Asgard, so why even bother practicing your magic? The moment that crown rests on his head, he's going to forget all about you and focus on his kingdom."

"Stop it!" Loki shouted, shutting is eyes tight and wishing like a child that the monsters would just leave him alone.

"But that's the truth of the matter, isn't it?" Surtur laughed.

Loki hated himself for shivering at the sound of his voice, that terrible way that he laughed when he finished speaking; he was the great Prince Loki of Asgard, son of Odin Allfather himself! So why was he trembling like a frightened mortal?

"King Loki. Doesn't that have a ring to it?"

Loki opened his eyes and was startled to find himself sitting on the throne of Asgard. And there he was: Loki's blond-haired elder brother knelt before him on the tile floor, wearing a horned helmet and armor. Thor kept his head lowered and said loudly, "As you wish, my lord."

"King Loki, ruler of the Asgardians, king of all those who once deemed him an outcast," Surtur's voice echoed from inside his head, "but never once remembering that when he was little, he was second in line for the glorious achievement of kingship. King Loki. Never remembering that there was once a time when he was too busy to give time to the other sorcerers."

There was another flash and Loki was watching himself talk to three sorceresses his own age. "Sorry, girls, I've got a lot of studying to do," younger-Loki replied to some unheard question. He smiled nervously and then dashed past the trio with his spellbook securely in his arms. Another flash, and they were back at Seid Tower, still in the past however. Loki was nodding vigorously to Amora as he scribbled notes in his spellbook.

"You are an outcast," Surtur said as he appeared out of thin air. "You love your brother and your father and your mother and your teacher, but everyone else is just a distraction. Unnecessary. You don't see any sort of issue with this yet? You can't see how much you've changed?"

"Shut your mouth!" Loki bellowed.

"Well, you're back to this loneliness once more. Think of your brother's friends."

Another flash, and Loki watched with nervous interest as images of Thor's adventures in the past six months around Asgard and several other realms flashed before his eyes. A troll-hunting mission in the farthest recesses of Vanaheim, climbing a mountain outside of Jotunheim, sparring with Sif, Volstagg and Fandral confiding in him that they had a crush on the same maiden, tackle-hugs courtesy of mighty Volstagg, and much more, appearing and vanishing faster than he could process them.

Loki blinked, and he was back in Seid Tower, back in the present.

"Those friends that take him away from you, that fill his head with all their nonsense." Surtur snapped his fingers in front of Loki's face, startling him. "Those friends that are undoing all your work to make a perfect brotherly relationship. The one person in all of Asgard that you could feel some connection with, and you were the one who set him adrift. By letting him go after my Sword."

A smokey image of Thor appeared in Surtur's open palm and passed through Loki like a ghost, walked into a wall, and was gone.

"The lonely outcast prince, left alone again," Surtur mused.

Loki was speechless. He didn't want to believe it. He didn't want to believe a word of those lies. But it was true. It was all so true. He had met Asgardians that he found disagreeable in his life, but he had never found himself ever hating any of his subjects...until he met those bastards Thor had begun to associate with. That fat bumpkin, that golden-haired arrogant diva who insolently tried to think he was capable of getting everyone and anyone he desired into his bedchamber, that sour-personalitied warrior who stared at Loki as if he were some sort of insect whenever he was around, and, worst of them all, that black-haired she-wolf who constantly belittled and mocked him.

And yet, Thor cared for them with all his heart, telling Loki stories of their adventures day after day. They had been with Loki when Algrim attacked Asgard. They'd been there when they went after the sword of destruction and death. They'd been there when Loki mourned his father's wounds.

And yet he hated them.

He was a child of the oldest, wisest, most powerful being in all of Asgard, in all of the Nine Realms, a near-master in the arts of magic, and he hated them. And he knew the exact reason why. They were taking his brother Thor away.

Surtur soothed, "Not that you're wrong to think that way, my prince."

Loki had nearly forgotten there was someone else in the room. Still grief-stricken at this sudden realization, he looked up in misery at the relaxed spirit who had once been a great jotunn war lord floating in the air.

"You didn't hear it from me, but even your elder brother isn't the most trustworthy of confidants," Surtur whispered into his ear without even moving his mouth. "He had some interesting opinions on you not long before this joruney began."

"You're a liar," Loki said weakly. He didn't have the energy to put any more passion into his voice. "Do you really expect me to believe that my brother—the one who stood by me after I killed Algrim, the one who told me he'd keep me as an advisor when he took the throne—would belittle me? Do you really think you can deceive me like this? Thor would never betray me like that."

"Oh, Loki. So young. So naive. You don't know the world at all." Surtur grimaced at the memory. "Do you honestly think when Thor becomes king he'll even _remember_ you?" Surtur shook his head with a sense of pity. "You're so foolish."

He snapped his fingers, and after the light faded away, Loki saw that he was still sitting in Seid Tower, but something felt wrong. His arms and joints were stiff. When he looked down, his clothes were dry and wrinkled, and his skin was withered with age. Loki tried to jump back, but his bones hurt so much all he could do was flinch. Surtur appeared before him with a disgusted smile, looking down at him with a smug sense of superiority.

"When he rules this kingdom, here is where you will remain," Surtur said. "Aged and old, powerless and weak. You'll be a forgotten memory."

He snapped his fingers, and Loki returned to his current age. He gasped and pinched his skin, relaxing when he saw that he wasn't wrinkled and weak anymore. He snapped his fingers and made a bolt of lightning dance across his fingertips. He still had his magic. _Thank Odin_ , he thought. His heart was hammering in his chest.

Surtur waved his hands in front of Loki's face. "Wanna see what your brother thought of you when you cut Sif's hair off?"

He clapped his hands in front of Loki's face again, making him flinch. Cold air hit him in the face. Loki looked up and saw the moon revolving gracefully in the sky—he was in Thor's bedchamber. Having figured out the illusion by now, he made no effort to communicate with Thor as his elder brother stomped around the massive room, kicking tables and shrieking at the sky. He was cursing the Nine Worlds, cursing the Asgardians, cursing his father, and above all else, cursing his little brother. _Especially_ cursing his little brother. He used some terrible words Loki never knew Thor knew. And they were aimed at him.

Loki could barely stand to see his brother in such a furious state. And at him, no less.

"Say what you will, but he really did hate you back then," Surtur said. "That reminds me, did he try to poison you after that? He said that he'd love to watch you twitch."

Loki wouldn't allow another word against his brother. "You're lying! He never said that! Thor would never hurt me."

"Now you're just deluding yourself," Surtur said acrimoniously. "Makes sense, though. You have to protect yourself from reality somehow. Because"—the fire lord struggled to stop himself from laughing—"if you Asgardians really had any idea of what was going on..."

Surtur couldn't hold it in any longer, and he exploded in laughter. His voice became many, and deranged fire giants crawled out of the tower's floor, howling with the same vicious laughter. And fire jotunns were not the only ones to appear in his memory. Thor's horrible friends, his most trusted guards, even the burned and splattered corpse of Algrim himself; but the worst was Thor's cruel betrayal as he came at Loki with a sword.

Then all at once it ended.

Surtur twirled his smokey finger next to his temple and then mimeographed an explosion, spitting a bit on the prince. Loki sputtered and wiped spittle off his cheek. Surtur said, "Hooooh, whee. You people make me and my sick thoughts seem _normal_."

"Thor would never want to hurt me!" Loki repeated, narrowing his eyes threateningly at Surtur.

"You know," Surtur growled without any hint of humor in his voice, "that's not as funny the second time around. I mean, you're cute when you're pissed, but you're starting to piss me off, and I ain't cute when I'm angry. Now listen, I'm going to spell it out for you, got me? Thor has always been wary of you. You're so different from the others. And I'm going to tell you something else. He even spoke about you to your father."

And as he spoke, the image of his brother changed before his eyes. Thor was standing in front of their father, who sat on his throne. Thor seemed more arrogant, which means it must've been a scene from a time before Algrim's death. Thor was shouting about their father doubting his abilities and something about what it meant to be king. Odin responded with a biting remark about a king avoiding conflict, and Thor spat a nasty comment about cowardice being one of Loki's talents. Loki didn't want to admit that hearing his brother say such cruel things about him actually did hurt. He lowered his head to look away from the image.

"Sure, he seems a bit more intelligent and humble after his adventure, but he's the same boy he was before this journey began," Surtur said, bringing Loki back to reality. "And let me say this." Surtur tried, but failed to hide his grin. "He _still_ hates you."

Loki shook his head, but couldn't form any words to counter with.

Surtur continued as if Loki had been sitting still. "Don't understand me? Well, that won't be a problem soon. You see, I'd keep an eye on Thor if I were you. He's a bit concerned with your actions. Maybe he thinks you've gone mad, like his pet wolf did when it fought with one of the snakes in the forests. Remember? They had to put it down? I'd watch out for him before he decides to put _you_ down, Loki."

His smokey expression hardened, and he began looking frighteningly serious. His blackened nostril flared and he turned his nose up. "Whoops, too late. You might be too late to do anything about it. Looks like he's here. Hey, I'll cut you a deal. I'll go mess with him a bit. Keep him from hurting you. Give you a chance at escape. Maybe he'd like to relive the deaths of those jotunns he killed on the bridge. Or, how about Algrim's death?" Surtur's crimson eyes flashed, and he smiled. "Sound good?"

And just like that, he was gone.

Loki screamed, so loud it bounced off the walls of the Tower. Surtur was going to hurt him. He was going to hurt Thor. _I have to stop him!_ Loki hopped out of his chair and flew down the hallways and the tall staircases of Seid Tower, screaming Thor's name again and again, his throat scraped raw with each shout.

"THOR!" he bellowed, and was met with gut-wrenching disappointment and terror.

Where could he possibly be? Surtur couldn't have gotten to him already, could he? Thor was okay. Thor was always okay. He just had to be. Thor was his big brother, nothing could hurt him. And yet Loki was running through the Tower, screaming and screaming until his lungs felt as if they would burst. He wanted to teleport to his brother's side—it should've been easy, especially for him—but a cold fear froze his magic.

"THOR!" he screamed again. His eyes blurred with tears he didn't realize were there. "THOR, PLEASE!"

He rounded the corner leading to the Great Hall. The door slowly creaked open, and Thor emerged from the massive room. Loki exhaled as he came to a screeching halt. "Thor," he said in quiet relief. "Thank Odin. I thought you'd been...I thought Surtur...Oh, you're all right. Thank Odin..."

His brother, if he heard Loki's words, didn't react to them. Loki stepped forward with a soft, "Thor?", and froze.

Thor looked different. Absolutely different. There was no way this was Loki's brother, not the one he remembered. His hair was dull and lank, a disgusting and filthy shade of blond, the leather binding on the one strand loose. His eyes were a sickly shade of yellow, rimmed with puffy crimson. He looked a thousand years aged within, trapped in the form of youth, rotting from the inside out. He looked _dead_.

The panic returned immediately.

"Brother!" Loki cried. "Brother, it wasn't real!" Loki's voice cracked. He was holding back tears that he didn't want to cry.

Thor moved past the door like a ghost, his eyes never focusing on his brother, only forward. He could never be the same after what he saw, not after what Surtur had shown him. "Murderer," he muttered softly under his breath. He had seen the entirety of his life, his endless life. He was a son of Odin, and he could never die. He saw infinity in the World Tree...and it was horrifying. He was forced to relive the terror of his own murders, of the murders of his little brother.

"Brother, please!" Loki begged, throwing himself in front of Thor. "Please don't believe any of it! Whatever you saw, it wasn't real. Please! You can't." He was choking on his tears. He couldn't lose Thor. It was his worst nightmare come to life. "Please don't leave me!"

Loki embraced his brother tight around the waist, but he was met with a bout of anger. Thor shoved him back into the wall. Loki cried out as the sharp stones cut his arm through his tunic. Thor advanced on him, vacant blue eyes narrowed, his steps ghostly and soulless.

"Murderer," he echoed. "You killed Algrim. He was my friend."

"I—I didn't mean—" Loki stumbled over his words. "If—if I had known, I—Thor, I'm so sorry, I—"

Thor's voice was hauntingly soft. "He was my _friend_." He shook his head and backed away from Loki as if he were a rabid animal. "I was right about you. You're a _monster_. What did I ever see in you?" He shut his eyes and whispered, "You aren't my brother. You never were."

Without another look back, Thor turned and walked down the hall, his steps light and broken. He would never be the same again.

Loki sat by the door and cried for the first time over his brother's already lost soul. Loki could barley breathe now. His stomach turned in knots and he hyperventilated to the point of vomitting. He said in a broken voice, "P-please, brother, no, don't. Don't do it! Please don't leave me! I'm sorry! I—I never meant for this to happen. Please...no..."

Loki tried to get up. He tried to run over to Thor and stop his departure. He tried, but he couldn't move. He was paralyzed with grief. Thor was gone. Loki was alone once more, and he could do nothing to save his elder brother in his hour of need, to explain himself and make things right between them. And now, nothing would ever be right again. He felt more alone now than he ever felt sitting there in the destroyed throne room of Odin as he hovered above his father's broken and bloody body, or sitting in Seid Tower playing with the ice and the watery snake.

As Loki lay sobbing, wallowing in his grief and misery, a cold claw touched his shoulder. It's icy grip sent a shiver down his spine. He suddenly felt rage. Blinding rage. His eyes turned white hot. "Surtur," Loki said in an eerily dark echo.

The Fire Giant's shadow smiled, flashing cracked teeth. He leaned over and whispered in Loki's ear, "Well, that went better than expected. I thought he was going to hit you for sure."

"SHUT UP!" Loki swung his hand at the Fire Giant, but it passed through again.

Surtur's expression took on a mix between pleasure and concern. "You look really cute with your face splotted in tears, my prince." His tone was anything but cruel, and yet Loki knew it was just another sick joke to enrage him. And it worked.

"GO AWAY!" He turned away and buried his face in his hands, breaking down into a fit of bitter tears. "I...I don't know what you want from me."

"No?" The flaming jotunn nestles at his side. "Didn't I tell you before?"

Loki tried to remember what Surtur had said to him, but he couldn't focus on anything other than Thor. His brother hated him. His brother thought he was a murderer. He choked on another sob, lowering his head to the ground.

Burning tendrils of smoke ran over his forehead in a jesture meant to be comforting. "There, there, my prince."

He scooted out of reach with a half-hearted growl. "Leave me alone!"

Surtur lowered himself to Loki's eye-level. Their gazes locked together—emerald green holding smoke-red—and Surtur hissed, "Or what? Who will you run to? Your brother? The same one that abandoned you after you murdered Algrim the Dark Elf? The one who kept looking at you strangely this morning? The one who tries to 'help' and yet does nothing that actually would do so! The one who just said you were no brother of his? The one that just called you a murderer? _That_ brother?"

_That's right...He hasn't helped me at all with my grief. He's only told me to wait, that it would get better! And it hasn't! It's only gotten worse! And now he tells me that he thinks I'm a murderer, too? That does it! I have had enough!_

Surtur seemed pleased with his anger. "Had enough, indeed. And what better way to make your brother regret those words than by showing him your power? How about we show all of Asgard just what their youngest prince is capable of?"

The voice of the demon was hitting all of Loki's tender spots: all his hopes, everything that would resonate with him. And it was working. He felt something sharp prickling in the back of his brain, and his vision was spotted with black and red. He sought comfort in the heat resonating from Surtur's body. He shook his head to clear it, but it only grew. And he enjoyed it. He enjoyed the attention Surtur was giving him, despite everything else. When was the last time he'd thought of Surtur with hatred? Loki couldn't remember a time when he'd thought negatively of the lord of the fire jotunns, the king who his father had wrongly attacked.

The future Loki imagined now was wonderful. Surrounded by friends of all types, lovers awaiting him within his bed, and a line of suiters asking for his hand stretching out beyond the castle's gates. And Thor, his brother, would forgive him and love him again. Be there for him again. Abandon those idiots he called his best friends, that she-wolf he associated himself with, and surrender everything he had for his little brother.

Just this thought alone brought tears to Loki's dull eyes.

"So? Do we have a deal?"

Loki had forgotten that Surtur was there. He turned his wet eyes to look at the smokey apparition. The fire giant looked so much like a devil, but Loki ignored that part. Surtur was promising him things he knew he'd never get another chance to get again. If he left things as they were now...he'd lose everything.

"I..." He shook his head to clear the burning fog building behind his eyes. "I..."

"Yes?"

"I..." Loki lowered his head in a bow to the Lord of the Fire Monsters. "I...accept..."

He swore he could feel a malevolent glee rise within Surtur, but he knew it was the haze in his mind and nothing more. "Very good," said the lord of the Fire Realm. "Now all you have to do, Loki, is take my hand."

He held his clawed smokey hand out.

Loki didn't need to be told what to do twice. He reached his hand up and touched the smoke, expecting to pass through. This time, however, Surtur seized his hand painfully and forced a burning magic into his body. Darkness reverberated within his head, causing him to shout in agony. The pain was only increasing in intensity with every second. He tried to rip his hand from Surtur's, but the demon held him like a vise.

A distorted mix of sobbing and agony-induced shrieking could be heard outside of the Tower, Loki voice crying out in pain and terror before being abruptly cut off, leaving only dead silence as the air in the World of Asgard was filled with blood-red warmth.

 _Power_.

The power!

The strength!

It was exhilarating!

The intensity of it all! There was so much of it, and he couldn't hold it all! Everything was so bright! So new! So clear! He had Surtur's dark energy pulsing in his veins. The lifeblood of Muspellheim kept him strong, kept him energized. Like this, not even Thor could stop him. Especially not once he enacted the plan Surtur was feeding into his mind. Everything he wanted, everything Surtur had told him about could wait.

The power of Muspellheim sang in his ears; it was...intoxicating...addicting...controlling, in a way. It wanted to be used, not held. In fact, what Surtur had promised him no longer mattered! Loki was a god, a god stronger than his brother! Than his father!

"I CAN DO ANYTHING...!" Loki shrieked.

The power sang its siren's song to him, and Surtur floated behind him, stronger now with a purchase in his mind, whispering sweetly in his ears. "Now that you have power," the demon was saying, "you will do as I command. Understood?"

Loki knew his future, his desire. He would crush Asgard beneath his heel, and all Nine Realms would cower in fear at his total domination. Thor himself would bow before him, only to be made into his slave, to do as Surtur commanded him to do. The power was driving him mad, he wasn't thinking clearly, he wasn't certain of himself anymore, what was right and what was wrong, and he was loving every second of it.

"Understood, my master."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _To Be Continued..._
> 
> *In case anyone was confused, the Thor that told Loki he was a murderer was an illusion created by Surtur to push Loki over the edge. The real Thor is in his bedchamber sleeping.


	5. When The Sun's Eclipsed, I Shall Appear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a voice like the bang of a jail cell's door, Loki said, "You can either remain here in Asgard, bow before me, and continue to rule by my side as another subordinate of Surtur. If you do, you will have my pity, and I will allow you to continue living." He raised a hand, glowing with red magic, and all humor in his voice vanished. "Or you can run. Run far, far away. You run as far away as you can and never return. For if you do... I will take you captive, and Surtur will see that you never know the light of another day. _**EVER. AGAIN...!**_ "

_I adore chaos and misery. Big chaos. Medium chaos. Small chaos. Chaos in all shapes and forms. I adore it in the form of fights, in the form of arguments; in the way a warrior swings his sword and in the way a sorcereress throws a magic blast at a target to shatter it._

_But my favorite kind of chaos?_

_Brotherly chaos._

_Chaos formed by doubt. Misfortune created by two siblings who don't see eye-to-eye. The misfortunes of two brothers who were once so close being pulled apart by their own fears. Nothing makes my heart swell bigger or my grin grow wider._

_HA!_

_To put it simply, nothing makes me happier than seeing two brothers forced to fight one another. I simply adore watching two brothers take up arms and charge each other in the battlefield, draw blood at a moment of weakness and drive their weapons into each other's hearts. Brothers who would once die for one another dying because of each other. Ah, nothing brings me greater joy. It makes me laugh, and laughter is good for you. Makes you live longer, they say? At this rate, I'll be immortal_.

—The Fire Demon Surtur, the Lord of Muspellheim

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

Thor woke, groggily rubbing at his eyes with his fists. It was nearly dawn, and he had duties to perform. Slipping out from under his wolf fur covers, he picked up a brush from his nightstand and began to pull it through his hair, which were being quite unruly at the moment.

It took him several minutes to pull the blond hair into behaving, but he managed it. He then proceeded to dress himself in his black tunic, pants, and vest. He drew on his red vest and settled it into place. Lastly he grabbed a simple little toy that lay upon his nightstand, a little statue of an Asgardian warrior, which he slipped into his tunic.

_I don't like this morning, I can already tell that it will be a bad day_ , he thought.

Heading out to his balcony to watch the sunrise, he looked up into the night sky. There wasn't a cloud to be seen, but something seemed horribly out of place. There. _Why is the moon on the wrong side of the horizon?_

The sky in the east lightened as the yellow sun began to peek over the horizon. But the moon did not go down like it should. It hung there near the sun. As the sun's rays hit Thor, he could feel himself become empowered by the light of day. It was when he was most alive, when Thor felt like he would never tire. The sun was too bright to look at directly, but he still smiled at the celestial body he had known since he was a child.

About to turn away to head back inside, something out of the corner of his eye caught the prince's attention. Darting his head around to peer back at the moon, he watched as it crept across the sky and covered the sun. At first, it was only a small slice, but as it grew, the day's light dimmed. Soon, the sun's radiance had completely vanished as all but a sliver of light escaped around the edges, the sun completely eclipsed by the silver moon.

With the sun in eclipse, the stars were in full bloom, and the sky was as dark as the blood staining a warrior's uniform. The sun and the silver moon were as white as the belly of a fish, and the heat was so intense that Thor felt a drip of sweat run down his nose.

He knew this heat.

It was the heat of Muspellheim.

Thor rushed out of his bedchambers half a second later, and all around him he saw nothing but panic. The citizens of Asgard were running all over the place. Some had packs upon their backs, evacuating while they still were able. Some had nothing, simply trying to find a place to hide or to get as far away as possible before it was too late.

He could not worry about that now; he had to find his mother and find out what was happening. The audience chambers were his best bet, and he more than once nearly plowed into one of his fleeing subjects in his run there.

"Mother!" Thor slammed his weight against the closed door and burst into the throne room.

Sitting upon the throne was Loki, back ramrod straight and gaze locked on the reddening sky. His clothing and cloak were black as soot and ashes, and smoke curled off his fingertips. What hit Thor hardest, though, was that the empty crimson eyes bore no resemblance to his brother's own.

Loki turned to Thor and flashed him a distant grin. "Ah, brother. Unfortunately our mother is not here at the moment. But I'm sure whatever you have to say to her you can say to your new _king_." Loki stared at Thor before bursting out into a contemptuous laughter that echoed around the vacant chamber.

Thor could only stand and stare aghast at what had become of his little brother.

It took him several seconds for him to find his voice again, and when he did, it was wavering and uncertain. "Loki? What happened to you? Why do you look like this? What's going...?" The amount of hurt that lay within his next word could be felt by any subject within a mile of the throne room despite the fact they were not present to hear it, " _Why...?_ "

Loki leaned forward, his fingertips glowing with scarlet magic. "My dear, _dear_ big brother. Did you honestly think abandoning me when I needed you most would not have its consequences? Did you consider how it felt for me to sit alone in my chambers all night, longing for your presence, just wanting to sit against your side while we talked? Or for all these arrogant fools in Asgard to disregard me and claim me an outcast? Oh, yes, that may have hurt; it hurt to know I was ignored and unappreciated by the citizens in Asgard. But what hurt the most was you leaving me to this fate!" His empty red eyes flared with a bout of flame.

Thor fell upon his knees in disbelief, managing to only mumble, "Why...Why didn't you talk to me about it, Loki...?"

Loki pounded his fist on the arm of the throne, a boom like thunder echoing through the chamber. "I am no longer Loki! I am nothing more than the Hand of Surtur! And you'd best remember that, _dear brother_. This fault lies with you. How many times did I come to you in the night, after my sleep was plagued by nightmares? How many times did you say things would get better, and yet they never did? How many times did your shoulder become soaked with my tears as I relived what happened that horrid night? Six months I suffered, brother, and you were no help _at all!_ "

Thor flinched back, unsure of what to make of Loki calling himself 'the Hand of Surtur'. But his brother's argument hit close to his heart. It was true he hadn't helped Loki as well as he could have. The prince imagined how he could have stayed up late at night to keep his brother company, and of how he did not. A pang of sadness caused him to flinch once more.

The guilt upon his face must have been evident, because Loki laughed again, his glare intensifying. "Yes, you know what you _could_ have done to prevent this, but it is too late now."

Thor rose and stepped forward, his pain all but evident in his eyes, "Loki...My dear brother, Loki...Please don't do this. Now that I know how much this has been bothering you, I can keep you company and help you as best as I can. I can put aside everything else to keep you from being lonely. To keep you happy. Just, please, _please_...you don't have to do this..."

It almost seemed like Loki had, for a moment, considered Thor's request.

However, that hope was quickly dashed, Loki's voice ringing out like a hammer on cold steel. "No. You had your chance, _brother_. And you threw it away. Now you have two choices, Thor Odinson." In a voice like the bang of a jail cell's door, Loki said, "You can either remain here in Asgard, bow before me, and continue to rule by my side as another subordinate of Surtur. If you do, you will have my pity, and I will allow you to continue living." He raised a hand, glowing with red magic, and all humor in his voice vanished. "Or you can run. Run far, far away. You run as far away as you can and never return. For if you do... I will take you captive, and Surtur will see that you never know the light of another day. _**EVER. AGAIN**_...!"

Thor took a step back, then another, and then a third. "This isn't you, Loki! Please, you must break free of whatever has you in in its grip! _This isn't you!_ "

With that he sprinted off back into the depths of the castle, chased by Loki's relentless laughter, echoed by Surtur's booming voice.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

_What do I do? What do I do? Brother, what has happened to you? Why did I allow it to go this far? How did I not see the signs?_

Rounding a corner, Thor nearly slipped and fell as he skidded upon the floor tiles. He had to find the Captain of the Guard! His father's warriors! His mother! Someone that knew what to do!

The hallway ahead of him suddenly exploded as a lance of energy cut through it at an angle. Just ahead of him, a servant that had been too close to the blast vaporized with an anguished scream, leaving behind little more than a greasy stain upon the floor tiles. Splinters of stone and tile flew everywhere, pelting angrily against his skin as he himself was knocked off his feet, sliding across the tile floor as bits of rock dug into his side.

Running as fast as he could, Thor came across even more intense destruction: huge, gaping holes in the masonry; piles of rubble littering the halls; the bodies of the dead strewn about like wet laundry, soaked in their own blood. Some of the bodies had been crushed by large stones, while others...

He could not think it. Magic gone wrong did awful things.

There were pools of crimson everywhere, and it seemed to be seeping out from the debris throughout the ruined halls. Thor couldn't look at it. He had never encountered death such as _this_ before, and nothing could have prepared him to see it on such a grotesque scale. The stench and sight of it made his stomach twist into a painful knot. He had to get out.

Locating a sufficient enough hole in the exterior wall, Thor leaped out into the bloody sky and fled out to the city of Asgard. He could see the destruction ravaging the kingdom below. There were garnet fires everywhere, and even as he watched, arcs of power from Surtur's unholy magic burst forth from the castle, carving blackened swaths through the city.

Helpless, he watched one land amongst a group of fleeing refugees, the blast leaving only sooty remnants, splatters of blood, and various unidentifiable bodily parts. It was all too much for him to bear, even as a warrior, and he turned his head to evacuate his stomach.

The taste within his mouth was dreadful, and Thor took several deep breaths, keeping his eyes averted from the disaster to compose himself.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

Thor was rushing, attempting to help with the evacuations as best he could as he ducked between the groups of refugees fleeing Asgard. He landed next to a tiny family who was trying to lug heavy furniture upon their backs in the false night intent on assisting them, but just as the prince was about to grab their attention, the screaming began.

It was something the likes of which no Asgardian or mortal had ever heard, and they all stopped to look back as it grew closer.

Hurrying ahead again, Thor watched the creeping crimson night spread itself upon the ground, and wherever it touched, screams erupted, only to be silenced immediately.

As he watched, the scarlet shadow began to pick up speed...swallowing portions of the city at an ever-increasing rate.

Thor's eyes widened as fear gripped his heart. Rearing back, he yelled into the air, his voice ringing out across the city over the horrified screams of its inhabitants, "RUN! Abandon anything you cannot easily carry! GO! HURRY!"

Joining a group of fleeing warriors, Thor looked back just in time to see his ancestral home destroyed; the entire city of Asgard became completely engulfed in the burning darkness of the red night. All he could do was watch, and as he did, he realized how lost everything was.

Knowing that he needed to get out of here as soon as possible, Thor set course for the underground refugee kingdom his father had built beneath Asgard. The prince did not wish to look back anymore, to see the death and destruction his little brother Loki had caused under Surtur's influence.

No, he needed time to think.

And right now Thor believed it was time that he did not have.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

_I failed them...I failed them all_...

The prince of Asgard could barely see the world before him as he ran with the group. The shadow of red heat had chased them to the edge of the city, overtaking all but the warriors and citizens who had already made it to the underground shelter.

Thor could still hear the screams of those who were overtaken and burned to a crisp, knew he would hear them within his dreams for years to come.

The fire and redness had followed them up to the edge of the realm of the gods, and then had receded shortly afterward. What it left behind...it defied description. A twisted, red, decaying forest and old village lay in Asgard's place.

A deep foreboding sense told Thor never to enter Asgard again unless he never wished to return.

He had failed his subjects, failed the world of Asgard, and failed all Nine Realms. An entire world, destroyed, children and adults lying dead within its walls. Others...worse than dead. His subjects bowing at the feet of whatever his little brother had become.

Lowering his head, he could see several Royal Guards waiting for him below, survivors from the castle who had managed to escape. Frigga stood at their side, face white as a fish's stomach.

Her eyes shone with relief when she saw Thor, but he knew she grieved for Loki; she knew not what had become of him, that he was the head of it all. If anything, she believed him to have perished with the rest of the Asgardians who hadn't fled fast enough. And Thor had not the heart to tell her, just yet, that her youngest was something far worse than dead.

She wrapped her arms around her eldest son and turned him in the direction of the underground shelter and ushered him inside without a word.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

As the blackened sun crept across the sky, hours seemed to go by as the prince and queen and their guards descended the unending staircase, the heat from above turning to icy cold. Thor's thoughts and memories tormented him the entire way, but he kept a somber face so he did not worry his mother.

The entire trip from the ruined Asgard was spent in silence, up until they exited the stairwell and arrived in the courtyard of the underground shelter. Almost immediately one of the two guards stationed in front of it ran inside, and a procession began to stream out, stopping in front of Thor and his mother.

As the various Asgardian survivors finished gathering in front of their ruler—more than Thor had first feared—one of them stepped forth and bowed before the two royals, inciting the rest to kneel before their rulers as well. He was a member of Odin's council, further into his years than the others around.

"Your Majesties," he said."It's absolute chaos, and we have only heard of rumors of what may be going on in Asgard, but the implications are terrifying. Please, if you would be so kind, my prince, my queen, follow us inside to the ready room."

Thor raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

As the Asgardians filed back into the building, Thor followed close behind his mother, bracketed by familiar guards, who seemed to be trying to watch everything around them all at the same time. As he stepped inside the elegantly designed underground building, a wave of emotion struck Thor, and he nearly stumbled over himself.

Odin was behind one of the glass doors, encased in a coffin. Crystaline structures decorated the air above his head. Runes and symbols flashed in bright colors across the smog, obscuring his father's sleeping figure. The glass frosted over from the inside, like a vapor. Odin was deep in the Odinsleep, as Thor knew well. All of Asgard knew it well. Looking back on the morning's horrific events, Thor wondered why his father had chosen _now_ to succumb to the recharging rest.

He looked away from the glass room and around the halls of the underground kingdom, built decades ago in case of emergency.

He remembered it well. Odin and Frigga had taken him and his brother here on a state visit not long before Thor's fifth birthday. Loki had managed to trip on a marble tile and scrape his knee. Thor could still hear him crying as Frigga bundled him in her robes.

The prince of the ruined Asgard pursued the group of his father and mother's subjects into a large chamber.

A massive table stretching the length of the room, with large wooden chairs. Pillars and statues of warriors littered the floors and walls, windowless and stretching high to a domed ceiling. Bookcases circled the entire room, starting at the door and ending at the door. Thor noticed that the carpets had been changed from the last time he'd been here, when he was only a toddler—converted from a pale blue to a beautiful red. Golden threads mixed in with the regal coloring.

Gesturing wordlessly to the guards, Frigga seated herself at the head of the table. She motioned for Thor to sit beside her. The guards took up arms by the closed metal slab of a door, swords risen across their chests.

The sound of a fist slamming down upon the tabletop brought Thor's attention to the advisor, who sat across the length of the table. "Prince Thor should be able to clear up the reports we've been getting from refugees entering the underground. Please save all questions until after we are done hearing his report." He turned to the prince and bowed his head. "The floor is yours, Sire. What is going on in our realm?"

Thor scanned the faces peering at him; he cleared his throat and began. "Surtur has...possessed my brother, Prince Loki. It has corrupted his mind, driven him to madness, turned him against Asgard and into a dark lord. He is not himself, and now calls himself the Hand of Surtur. He..." Thor shut his eyes tight. "The castle now lays in ruins; the city—in flames. Any Asgardian who was unable to make their way to the underground is dead...or worse..."

Taking a deep breath to clear his mind, Thor continued, knowing what had to be done. "We must prepare for war. Even if only to defend ourselves. Even if we can't...return Asgard to what it once was, we must stop it from becoming Muspellheim."

Immediately, the coucilmen within the chamber burst out in a heated debate, yelling and screaming at each other, each trying to be heard over the others, arguing with one another or trying to attract the prince and the queen's attention.

Thor only caught little snippets of what they were saying: how they were not prepared for war; how Odin would never've allowed this to happen; how Thor was not the king and could not make a call such as that; that perhaps he was mistaken and didn't know what he was talking about.

Frigga tried to quell the screaming voices, hushing them to no avail.

Gritting his teeth, Thor slammed his fist on the table, the sound cracking like an explosion as the force split a rift across the table's length. "THAT IS ENOUGH!"

A bolt of lightning rocked the chamber.

Every single councilman fell silent, and even Frigga looked at her son in stunned horror.

Thor glared at every single councilman, letting his anger and stress bleed into every word. "You will all be _silent_ from now on. How dare you show such disrespect to your queen, to your prince! Would you show such disrespect to my _father?_ There is no time now for such trivial arguing. We face a war that threatens to rip Asgard apart, and you all bicker like children caught playing in the weapon's vault!" Thor saw each man in the room hang their head in shame, but he continued regardless. "My brother has already wiped out most of Asgard, forced to do so under the possession of a great demon once believed to have been slain by my father, and you _dare_ accuse me of making this up?!" His voice rose to a nearly violent pitch, rattling the eardrums of every councilman in the room. "Why in the entirety of the Nine Realms would I be making this up? I do not have nearly the power to take my brother on when he uses his magic, let alone when he's borrowing strength from Surtur, who my own _father_ had trouble defeating, and you dare assume that—"

A knock at the door interrupted him, and an aide opened it to poke her head in. "Your Highness? Your Majesty? I would interrupt if it weren't dire. There is a...messenger."

She pulled her head out, and not a second later another person walked in. It was just a young child, an Asgardian who had not yet come of age. But there was a sense of wrongness about her. Her eyes were completely shut, as if she were sleeping. Her coloration was monotone, all the color drained from her being, even in her clothes and her hair, and right on her forehead was a blackened mark twisted like a thorny heartthe mark of Surtur himself.

Before anyone could say a word, the child opened her mouth and spoke in a voice that was not her own: " _If you wish to survive Surtur's Fire, you will surrender immediately, or you will be subject to the mercy of the New Muspellheim. And do not think you can hide this matter from the citizens. My messengers are everywhere. Muspellheim will be reborn here, in what was once called Asgard. You have one day, starting at this moment. If you have not given me your answer by then, or given a non-favorable reply, you will be destroyed. And to anyone who resists and harbors the enemies of Surtur—namely former-Prince Thor and former-Queen Frigga—know that you may try to keep them safe, but it will fail you in the end. If you doubt that I will find them, look at my messengers, at my Burned. They will teach you what it's like to be on the wrong end of Surtur's anger_."

The moment the girl stopped speaking, she collapsed to the floor.

Every Asgardian sprang from their seats, and gathered around the fallen child.

Suddenly, she opened her mouth, and a horrified scream came from it. Thor recognized it. It was the same scream he heard back in Asgard. The screams of being subjected to a burning pain infinitely worse than anything they could possibly imagine.

The elderly covered their ears. They could hear echoing screams from many points in the city. The Hand of Surtur hadn't lied. His torturned minions, his Burned, were everywhere!

And then, just as the screaming had begun, it stopped abruptly, and the limp child was teleported out of the room in a flash of red smoke. The scent of burned flesh and smoke lingered in the air.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

"Your brother ran away from you, Loki. He _abandoned_ you. Forget him. He has no worth to you—as a brother, or as a servant. He is worthless. We have bigger things to accomplish. Put him out of your mind. Should he return, we will handle him accordingly."

And Loki agreed.

If there had been one Asgardian he thought would always stand by him, it had been his brother. No matter who was his master now, he was still Loki at his center, and he felt Thor's betrayal like a sword-slash to the heart.

He lowered his head and spat, "He gave his answer. His actions spoke clearly for what his choice was. He...never cared for me..."

Surtur may have been his master and a demon of Muspellheim, but he felt a pang of sympathy for his sorcerer. No matter what, he had to trust Loki. Loki was Asgard's king now, his servant and most loyal subject, and he had to keep his trust for now.

"Then I have a favor to ask of you, Loki," Surtur said.

He kept his voice low, gentle, as to keep from making the shaken prince from turning his rage on him and ruining everything he'd put his effort into.

Loki turned away from his master and looked into the glass of the castle, reflecting his image back. He was different now. He wore the armor of the warriors he had once thought so little ofconstructed entirely of crimson metal. Intricate patterns of red leaves laced around his chest and arms, down his legs to the toes of his boots. The armor was thick and befitted a grander warrior than Thor, more powerful than Odin. His eyes were shaded by the darkness of the helmet he now wore, elegant and red as blood, heavy but commanding. Two horns made of wolf bone jutted out to the side, stained in ebony-black burns.

The armor felt warm on his skin, and Loki could hardly see any of his skin anymore beneath it. It hurt him to wear, but he desired the pain. Physical agony was so much better than the emotional turmoil he felt now at his brother's opbvious betrayal.

_Of course he left me_ , Loki found himself thinking. _He never loved me_.

"What would you have me do, master?" he asked.

Surtur looked into Loki's empty garnet eyes, filled to the brim by his corruption, by his brainwashing tongue. Surtur reached out and held his hand in front of Loki's face. His servant's expression went blank.

"Do me a favor," Surtur said again.

He swung his hand in front of Loki's face and watched in satisfaction as his servant's eyes followed his every movement like a charmed snake. Loki stared at him, lulled into silence by his strength. Surtur had him under his complete control. _Good_.

"And bring the Mighty Thor to his knees."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _To Be Continued..._


	6. Shoving Your Brother Into the Dirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As far as Loki was concerned, he would continue converting Asgard to Muspellheim. No matter how long it took, whether it be days, weeks, or months.
> 
> And if Thor still had not surrendered by the time Asgard was truly lost, then so be it. Loki and Surtur would launch their attack against the undeground kingdom. Until then, let them wallow in their pity. In their false hope.
> 
> Let them see what their home was becoming.

_It was so much simpler than I thought. Loki's corruption was amazing. He fell so easily; it was laughable, really. He doesn't have a chance in Hel of coming back. He's fallen so far he won't ever rise back up. And there's nothing that damn brother of his can do about it. If he'd only stayed by Loki's side...none of this would've come to pass._

_I guess it's lucky for me that he abandoned his brother when he did._

 

—The Fire Demon Surtur, the Lord of Muspellheim

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

The quarters that had been provided for Thor weren't lavish, but they were the ones typically used by the royal family during their visits.

The day had been long for the prince: meetings of every kind, addresses to the public, and extensive planning for the days ahead. The underground kingdom was indeed going to war, but no one knew just how to go about it.

Many of the meetings were concerned with just that problem: how to go about acquiring conscripts for their force, what sort of training their troops required, the acquisition of important supplies, and many other impenetrable details that served only to give Thor a tremendous headache.

He wasn't a warrior quite like his father, and if those Burned were any indication, his brother had an entire realm's worth of bodies for his army.

The prince felt that Loki's chosen name—the Hand of Surtur—was more than apt for the situation, as according to reports from the Above, the entire realm of Asgard was infected with five long burns that appeared like the shape of a clawed hand from an arial view.

Thor slumped down upon the bed within his small quarters, every fiber of his being exhausted.

Sitting here doing nothing was boring and useless, but he had no other choice. He did not dare risk agitating the situation before his subjects were prepared, and now that Loki was seated on the throne and turning Asgard into a possessed Muspellheim, a familiar feeling of dread had all but shut him down.

However, he was trying to hold on. There was too much at stake for him to sleep now. Too much to think about.

 _I will not give up on you, Loki. I will find a way to free you from Surtur! I just...I just don't know how to do it...And with Asgard the way it is, I cannot see getting to the castle being easy. I do not see you or I getting out of this situation unscathed. Already I have seen more than anyone should. I cannot imagine what it is like for you, brother, to be committing these atrocities_...

His mood was heavy with depression. He was brought back to a time when he and Loki had sat together after Algrim's death, not speaking, not looking at each other; they simply wallowed in their sorrow in the company of one another.

Laying his head down, Thor's thoughts turned to memories of his brother. Of times good and bad. Of times with their parents, when they had been totally carefree save for their schooling. The bond between the two siblings had been so strong, the love they had for each other immeasurable. What had gone so wrong as to result in this...this horror?

Eventually Thor gave into his desire to sleep, exhaustion from the day's events finally catching up with him.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

All Loki felt was guilt and regret, and Surtur was all the more angry for it.

It was midnight, and the moon was in full glory overhead the castle. The sky was still the bloody crimson of a warrior's death. Throughout the day Loki had fixed the caste as best as he could, and then tidied up a bit before retiring to the throne room.

But now, with the anger at his brother mostly all gone, the overwhelming need for power and retribution had seeped away, leaving him cold and contrite. In the back of his mind, he kept asking, _What have I done...?_

This hadn't been meant to happen. Yes, he had wanted to rule Asgard, so that every Asgardian would finally take notice of his worth. He wanted every Asgardian to love him, just as they did his accursed brother and his equally accursed strength. But Surtur...Surtur had filled him with lust; a lust for power, blood and destruction, and the irresistible desire for more had driven him mad.

Surtur's shadow floated behind him. "It's too late for you to turn back, now," he said, not unkindly. "We've crossed the line, even I know that, and I...dare not think of what will happen to us if we lose this fight."

Loki shivered in his crimson armor. The power he'd felt earlier was returning, filling him with courage. But there was still that endless, gnawing guilt he felt for his actions deep down.

"We have to win now, through whatever means necessary," Surtur continued, eyes flashing. "You may even have to do more abhorrent things than we have already, just to survive." He kept his voice low to inform Loki of the severity of the sitution. "You cannot go back, Loki. You can only keep moving forward. Whatever may happen, we cannot give up our plans. You are king now. Not your father. Asgard will be Muspellheim soon enough, and Thor, curse him, will bow before us and surrender to my power, or by your hands will he die..."

Loki looked down at the ground, his mind deep within Surtur's possessive grasp. His memories were foggy, and he couldn't remember one time when he felt that Thor truly cared for him. Right now, Surtur was all he had.

And Surtur knew this.

He growled. "You're right. We'll give him a second chance. Either he bows before me, accepts my rule as king and accepts you as his master as I have..." His eyes flashed crimson as the fires of Muspellheim in his veins burned like lava. "Or I shall kill him where he stands."

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

The skies above Asgard were still bloody red, the round sun eclipsed by the silver moon. It had been two long days since King Loki made his decision to follow Surtur's every command and slay his brother if he refused to accept either of them as they were—Surtur as his master and Loki as his king, for the time being. Two days had not granted Surtur access to the underground kingdom, and though he knew of its location, neither he nor Loki made for an assault against it.

As far as Loki was concerned, he would continue converting Asgard to Muspellheim. No matter how long it took, whether it be days, weeks, or months.

And if Thor still had not surrendered by the time Asgard was truly lost, then so be it. Loki and Surtur would launch their attack against the undeground kingdom. Until then, let them wallow in their pity. In their false hope.

Let them see what their home was becoming.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

A sorceress ran through the garnet darkness of the afternoon, coming straight into the audience chambers of what remained of Asgard Castle. Upon her forehead burned the mark of Surtur, glowing against her pale white skin. Her orange ringlets fell to her shoulders as she huffed in exhaustion. She ran straight up to the throne, past several sorceresses clad in lavish scarlet dresses who leered at her for her rudeness.

However, Loki himself smiled down at his subject graciously. "Ah, Lorelei. I assume that you have something to report regarding the answers that my subjects have given me in response to Surtur's decree?"

His words were kind enough, but his smile challenged her to say otherwise.

"My lord!" Lorelei announced, bowing deeply before her new king, not a year older than she. "Rest easy, as I have the reports. To begin, the Light Elves of Aflheim have surrendered to you. They are ready to surrender and accept Surtur. They knew they could not fight. The dwarves have started readying their weapons, and have sent us a very clear message of, um...well, you know how they are. I do not think I need to end that sentence...And that is about where matters stand now, my lord. Our forces are ready to mobilize at your command, currently stationed around the Observatory in case anyone tries to flee via the Bifrost."

Tapping his boot upon the tile near the throne, Loki responded, "This is fine news indeed. You are dismissed. Oh, and Lorelei. One more thing?"

As the sorceress began to turn away, she turned back, hesitant. "My...liege?"

Loki was still smiling, but his voice was latended with threats. "Report to the Head Sorceress. She is to step down and appoint you and your sister Amora as the Head Sorceresses. Your current orders still stand, however. Do not disappoint me."

Saluting with her fist across her head, Lorelei said, "Y-Yes, my liege. Thank you, my liege!" She skipped out of the throne room to take up her new station.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

"This is it? Seventy warriors? And this isn't including the guards, is it?" Thor asked.

The trainer replied, "Everyone is frightened, Your Highness. We all saw the Burned. Heard their screams. Many of the viable recruits have perished or vanished; I am surprised we even got these few. The major problem is this: they've no use to us even as _shields_ unless we have the time to train them, and we do not have time."

Thor felt resignation take over, and let out a deep sigh. "I know. I just...I...I need to figure out what to do first. And first thing's first: we have to get some sort of defense ready for the underground..."

The trainer turned his head to stare over at Thor. There was anger burning in his eyes. "With all due respect, Sire, I can do my job just fine. The question is, will you do yours? If that means surrendering yourself to save the people that you will rule over, then it should be done. We sheltered you and your mother, and Surtur will not forgive us for that. I would rather not become a mindless automaton living an eternal burning nightmare! None of us do!"

Thor stared at him, horrified. He finally realized what was going on, what everyone was feeling. _I'm damning an entire realm to death if I don't do something. And there isn't anything I **can** do._

He left the trainer without a word. He marched to his quarters with his head raising, trying to hide his thoughts from anyone he passed. _What if I'd bowed to him? Could I have kept all this from happening? Kept Asgard from being destroyed? Kept the countless lives of our subjects from being lost?_

He didn't bother to answer the Warriors Three or Sif when they tried to speak to him in the halls. He just waved his hand half-heartedly and continued.

Sif made a noise of beginning protest, but Volstagg silenced her with a careful whisper. He understood, better than anyone, what Thor must be going to. Gentle Volstagg was always willing to understand, to listen.

But Thor knew that even Volstagg, kind as he was, probably blamed him for all this.

_I failed Father. I failed Loki. I failed my friends. And I failed the Nine Realms. I...I am not worthy of being prince...of anything..._

A voice broke him from his thoughts. A page came running up to him, yelling his name. Thor was nearly to his chambers, but paused to listen.

The page cried, "We have a report! The Hand of Surtur'sarmy has been spotted emerging just outside of the main square! He's with them! Sire, what do you wish for me to tell the Council?"

Thor thought for a moment, then decided. "Nothing. Tell them to do nothing. I thank them for their hospitality, and I thank them for putting up with me. I will do this alone. I mean to bargain with the Hand of Surtur, and if that doesn't work...then I'll give myself up as a prisoner of war. Tell my mother I am sorry, and tell the Warriors Three and Sif that they all meant a lot to me. But I have to do this. Tell them not to stop me, though I know that they will."

He'd made his decision. He was the prince of Asgard. It was his job to defend it. Even if he had to perish to do just that.

He didn't watch the page go. He didn't care to. He stopped at his quarters first, grabbing a single object to give him strength. It was a tiny toy in the shape of an Asgardian warrior, a toy he'd given Loki as a child. And then without a word, he vanished from the underground, set not to return.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

Loki landed upon the town hall stage within Asgard's main square. In front of him stood every resident of the realm of the gods who had not fled, some watching in anticipation, others in abject fear, all waiting in the field in front of the hall.

And in a booming voice, mingled with Surtur's, Loki announced, "My faithful subjects, I am delighted to see so many Asgardians who know their place. You will be a welcome addition to the new land of Muspellheim, and know that, from this day forth, Asgard will be spared any and all attacks and retaliations for their loyalty to the throne. Any and all warriors who wish to register within the Muspellheim army, march out of Asgard to where the legion currently camps."

While Loki talked, continuing his speech, Surtur spoke along with him. Their voices intertwined and melded into one, an effect of their link. While their minds were still mostly separated, allowing their thoughts to be separate from each other, their actions and speech were as one. Surtur had been emotionally split in two about the excruciating pain his new servant had gone through to establish the link they now shared. While he took a savage enjoyment in causing it, he was also a little bit concerned for him. Loki was, after all, powerful and utterly loyal to Surtur. And the Fire Demon could trust him like no other.

Their speech, however, continued unabated. "...Breaking of these laws will result in immediate arrest, followed by a punishment befitting of the crime. Last, but not least, I require an oath of fealty, whereupon you will gain a mark that will not only protect you, but show your loyalty to me. And make no mistake, I will know if you fore-swear your loyalties. Now, bow to me, my subjects! Bow to me and show your allegiance to Surtur."

One by one, Asgardians amongst the crowd began to kneel to their new king. Some, of course, looked uncertain, but bowed before Loki regardless. However, inevitably a small group amongst the crowd rebelled.

One shouted, "No! I serve only the House of Odin!" and three of them darted out of the crowd, sprinting away from the gathering.

Loki was ahead of them. Fiery tendrils crept out of the ground and immediately wrapped themselves around the three traitors. His hand glowing a deep scarlet, the three traitors drifted back through the air, nicely bound, to the stage.

With the power of the realm of fire coursing through him, Loki exclaimed, "Now witness what happens to those who refuse to join Surtur! To kneel in their place before their King!"

His magic-encased hand snaked out toward the terrified citizens, fear deep within their eyes. And upon being touched, each screamed out violently before falling silent. The color bleached from their hair and turned to black, and their eyes were as vacant as burned spots. And on their foreheads burned the mark of their new master, Surtur.

Once the three Burned got to their feet, the Hand of Surtur pointed his finger to Asgard's road and ordered, "Join your damned brothers and sisters."

The three new Burned walked off without a sound, while the tainted son of Odin turned back to his subjects. A simple glare made any Asgardians who had stood immediately bow back down before him. Loki's hand began to glow once more, and all across the field, the mark of Surtur sprang into being on everyone's forehead.

Just as he was about to speak again, he heard the sound of boots landing upon the stage next to him, as well as an audible gasp from the Asgardians gathered. He didn't even have to look to know who that was.

"Ah, my brother, Thor," Loki said without turning his head. Then, his tone changed to something sinister and dark, and he screamed at the crowd, "Go about your business; this does not concern you!"

Immediately, the crowd scattered in all directions, leaving Loki and Surtur to face Thor alone.

Thor did not look amused in the least, though Loki did not think he would be. The silence between the two stretched on for minutes, each feeling like an hour a piece, each son of Odin waiting for the other to make the first move.

Finally, Thor deigned to speak, lowering his head but keeping his eyes upon the Hand of Surtur in front of him. "I...I've come to bargain...For the safety of all the Asgardians..."

Loki laughed, a sinister cackle full of threat and malice. "You've come to bargain with us? After you abandoned me back in the castle? I gave you the choice to rule with us in the new Muspellheim, and you cast aside Surtur's gift without so much as a thought! And then you dare to stand against me? Why should I ever bargain with you, _traitor?_ "

Thor started, glancing everywhere but at his brother, trying to figure out what to say. What could he say?

"I..." It was hard to speak to Loki, knowing full well what he had done to help him along the path to this insanity. "I...I want you to release Loki, Surtur, to free him! I'll do whatever it takes!" Thor's voice fell to a soft whisper. "Whatever it takes."

"Oh my, how brash and demanding," the Hand of Surtur replied, tapping his foot against the floorboards. Then, his voice changed to only be that of Surtur, "Of course, I do not think the answer lies only with me. Perhaps your dear brother should get a vote in, don't you think?"

And then, from Loki's mouth came his own voice, freed of Surtur's corruption, causing Thor to gasp in shock. "Brother, I made my decision. I want this... You weren't there for me. You abandoned me! Surtur has been here the entire time and kept me company. He wants what I want. No, I will be staying. I made my choice; I made my unforgivable decisions. Leave me to them."

And then, the duo's voices were back in sync. "There, you see, Brother Thor, I made my choices long ago. I am Loki and at the same time I am the Hand of Surtur. I am his subject, and we are together. We are inseparable. What could you ever offer that would separate us, hmmm? Surrender, Thor. It is over! You know Asgard cannot win against my army. You know that you cannot win!"

"Maybe not, Surtur, but I can fight! For my brother's freedom!" Thor yelled, getting himself into what he thought was a good combat-ready stance.

He was still mentally shaken from hearing Loki's untainted voice come from his corrupted body, and wasn't prepared for what happened next. Loki simply laughed in his face. "Oh you stupid, silly fool. Did you think you could"—the youngest son of Odin's hand suddenly flared, several dark bolts of energy shooting out from it and striking Thor in the chest, flinging him back to slide across the dry earth, which shuddered in protest—"fight against us! You have the pent up rage of both of us to deal with! You will die by both our hands! Your memory will be erased from the chronicles, and I will rule without you!"

Loki's eyes blazed a bright scarlet, streams of raw power seeping from his eyes.

Another flurry of bolts leapt at Thor, knocking him prone again as he slid further into the gathering area. The ground heaved once more, a violent tremor rocking the land, and in the far distance, a mountain collapsed in on itself. The skies above them shuddered, and animals took flight across the countryside. A second volley, then a third, tore into Thor, throwing his battered body about. The ground in all directions protested, great rents in the earth appearing. New mountains rose up all across Asgard, while old ones crumbled into dust as the stars above trembled in fear.

Even in immense pain, his skin feeling as if it were on fire, Thor could sense what was happening.

He choked, as he managed to stagger up once again, just in time to dodge Loki's kick and steal back. His brother swiftly followed. An immense fireball flew from Loki's hand this time, and Thor barely managed to get his shield up in time to dissipate it, plowing through the orb of flame. It was close; he felt his skin smolder, but before his brother could react, Thor dove down and drove his back with a kick to the side of his armored plating.

Throwing the daze of the blow off, Loki glared at Thor with barely concealed hatred. He drank deep of his connection to Surtur's strength and with a great surge of power unleashed a tempest of bolts upon the eldest Son. The time for playing around was over.

Thor tried to get his shield up in time, but it happened too fast. His shield was crushed around his body and the bolts of energy pummeled him from every direction. They smashed into every inch of his body, bruising and battering him further, and just when he thought it had ended, Loki rose up and delivered a punishing two-handed blow to the Eldest Prince of Asgard's chest, snapping no small number of ribs and causing a spurt of blood to issue from the prince's mouth. The ground gave one final shudder in protest just as Thor's body hit the earth below with a sickening crunch.

Thor was dimly aware of his surroundings through the fog of his pain. He watched helplessly as Loki approached him just to glare down at his broken body. "No mother and father to act as base this time, dear brother. I win. You may have one last chance to say something to deter Surtur and I from killing you. Choose your words carefully."

Thor cried out in pain as he tried to move, barely managing to bring up a hand to his tunic, and pull something out of it. Losing his strength, the object fell from his hand and rolled across the ground, drawing Loki's gaze.

It was a little toy warrior.

Loki remembered it fondly. Thor's mentor had carved it back before Loki had been born, and took it everywhere with him, even sleeping with it at times. But when Loki had been born, Thor had lended it to him and let him play with it, even giving it to him when he was scared.

It was a quaint little thing and as Loki stared at it, it sent him a message...

 _My dearest brother. I am greatly ashamed that I did not help you, or be there for you as much as I could have. Some nights, I couldn't sleep when you were in one of your bad moods, feeling powerless to comfort you. In fact, right now, all I've been wanting to do is cry for you, regardless of whether or not warriors are supposed to cry, knowing that I had helped you become this monster. And while I cannot yet forgive you for everything you have done, I can definitely say that I just want you back. I miss you little brother_...

Surtur scoffed at the toy and its message. A ploy! A trick to throw them off guard. Lies. Nothing more than lies!

But Loki...

Loki caught something his wicked mentor and master did not. Love. One hundred percent pure and absolute. Unadulterated, unconditional love. He could feel it deep within his heart, and as he did, it cracked through Loki's emotional armor and pushed him to doubt his actions. Every single one of them.

Loki's hesitation caught Surtur's attention, however, and he snapped at him, "What are you doing?!"

He didn't reply, and the backlash of him breaking their mental link stunned Surtur, forcing his spirit to the back of Loki's mind and allowing Loki's untainted and uncorrupted mind to take control as it had been six months prior.

Dashing forward, Loki in his Surtur armored-body knelt down beside Thor, causing his brother to flinch back and screw his eyes shut. But, instead of more pain, a gentle nuzzle brought Thor to open his eyes, gazing straight up into the other god's. And the eyes he saw were Loki's.

"I'm so sorry, Brother," Loki said, lamenting as he had six months ago when he murdered Algrim. "I can never apologize enough for what I've done to you..."

And just as he felt the faint stirrings of Surtur coming back to his senses, Loki's hands flashed, and he vanished from sight in a swirl of blackness, leaving Thor broken and battered upon the ground in the center of Asgard's square. The village itself had been all but demolished, a causality of the vindictive rage of their new King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _To Be Continued..._


	7. I Do What I Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams were false. Voices were faint. Thor didn't know what was going on anymore. He was dreaming he was an infant, staring up at a white ceiling. He did not yet understand voices; only sounds. They drifted in and out of his ears, filling him with unease and danger. He knew he was forgetting something...something vital. But he didn't know what that something was, nor how he was to go about recalling it. All he did know was that he was tired...so very tired.

_Ah, love._

_Such a trivial emotion. It means nothing, really. After all, can anyone truly love anything? All anyone ever feels for anyone else is selfishness. Falling in love is just a kinder way of possessing them, of claiming them for yourself and never sharing them with another. Love, whatever they say, is a negative emotion. It leads to too much betrayal, too much hurt._

_Mortals thrive on it. Asgardians, too. Jotuns are smart. We cut all ties. Love does not exist. We do not attach ourselves emotionally to another. We breed and we part ways. That is how it works._

_Some have questioned what I once felt for Odin Borson, now known as Odin Allfather. No, I did not love him. I felt...respect for him. Admiration. Never love. That emotion means nothing._

_And my sorcerer would do well to learn that. There is no such thing as love in Muspellheim, and I will not allow it in New Muspellheim. Love will be buried in the dirt and forgotten, scorned and mocked in the years to come. My people will look back at the Asgardians and scoff at their silly attempts at courting, their soft words and simple, mindless, selfish gestures._

_After all, if there is no love...there can be no hatred_.

—The Fire Demon Surtur, the Lord of Muspellheim

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

Thor drifted in and out of consciousness. At first, the Asgardians with Surtur's mark upon their foreheads had been gathered around him. He thought for a moment that he saw Amora. Then next he knew, he was being lifted by two burly Asgardians, a pair of young healers doing their best to make him comfortable and trying to soothe his grievous wounds.

It wasn't working out too well. The son of Odin was in pain regardless of the position, and every inch of his body hurt. He swore he could even feel the grating of broken bones grinding against one another whenever he was moved. Fortunately, it wasn't long before the bliss of unconsciousness took him once again.

Later, he woke up in what he presumed to be the makeshift healing chambers in the underground city.

Everything was painfully bright and he could barely see at all. There were multi-colored blurs moving about him with an alarming quickness, and he could hear the frightened mumbles of several different boy and girl healers, all as young as he was.

Just then, an oddly familiar voice rang out nearby, "He's awake! Get him sedated! He's not ready yet; we need more time!"

There was a great clamor about him, healers rushing around him in a panic as the pain began to bleed slowly back into his broken body. Thor was about to scream, but a sharp prick made itself known in his arm and suddenly everything went away as he faded back into a peaceful, medicated bliss.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

In the throne room that once housed Odin Allfather, the infuriated shadow of the greatest fire jotunn in all of the Nine Realms paced through the shadows of pillars and of Loki's own mind, shouting curse after curse. "I TRUSTED YOU!" he roared. "I allowed you to keep control of your own actions because I _trusted_ you! And you even gave me your _word_ you were loyal to me! You're no better than your father! We had the Mighty Thor Odinson at our mercy and you prevented us from killing him! If you were any other Asgardian and not the King of Asgard and my most powerful servant, I would have slain you where you stood!"

The hate and anger rolled off Surtur's spirit in waves, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a sword.

Loki could only kneel before him in the center of the throne room, not daring to even give a frightened peep. He had never seen Surtur this furious, and he knew he had screwed up in a big way. But he also knew now that Thor still loved him, that there was hope for things to be fixed between the two of them.

"You have betrayed me, Loki," Surtur snarled.

The Fire Giant stopped pacing, and Loki lowered his head in submission. Surtur said, "I know it is not your fault. You were caught up in some spell of your brother's. I shall allow this to go unpunished, but if it happens again, I know just what I will do to you." Surtur reached a smokey hand to his forehead. "Do you understand me well, Loki?"

The youngest son of Odin bowed his head until he could kiss the ground. "Yes."

Surtur reached down and touched his forehead, and Loki cried out as power and unimaginable pain arced across his mind. His eyes flashed from bright green to dull crimson, and his vacant expression fell into place once more. Then he raised his head and grinned darkly at Surtur, every bit the wicked monster he had been before Thor's toy warrior made its debut on the battle field.

This time, Surtur smiled back. He took glee in the hateful look in his servant's eyes, and knew that he was thinking of his brother with a disgusted hatred once more. But for now, Surtur had things to plan for. There were cities and Asgardians to attack, people to recruit, and Thor to find, though Surtur could guess that he was recuperating, if he even survived such horrid wounds with no access to a proper healing chamber or healing stones.

 _That suits me just fine_ , he thought. He would destroy Asgard whether Thor was alive or not.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

Days passed, and the flames continued to burn. The Sorceresses marched through the nearly empty streets, watching each and every individual they happened to come upon. The Burned were always there too, standing in the streets like gray and black statues. The entire city smelled of smoke and ash, and the charred lines on the ground told the story of where King Loki and his brother the Mighty Thor had dueled only seventy-two hours earlier.

Children left orphaned sobbed in the streets, and the Burned paid them no attention.

Heimdall's control of the Bifrost had been removed, taken away by Surtur. He held it now, in his chest, waiting to use it.

King Loki rarely left his throne room. Surtur was always beside him. And the entire kingdom of New Muspellheim could hear him laughing as the flame grew taller and taller, arcing across the sky like a bloody scythe.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

Dreams were false. Voices were faint. Thor didn't know what was going on anymore. He was dreaming he was an infant, staring up at a white ceiling. He did not yet understand voices; only sounds. They drifted in and out of his ears, filling him with unease and danger. He knew he was forgetting something...something vital. But he didn't know what that something was, nor how he was to go about recalling it. All he did know was that he was tired...so very tired.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

Loki wasn't amused. His sorceresses stood before him, gripping the arms of an old man. The old man looked at him without fear. There was no mark of Surtur on his forehead.

"Who is he?" Loki growled.

"His name is Marh," Amora announced with a sly smirk. "He is a blacksmith. He slept during the christening of Surtur's glory. He avoided the mark of Lord Surtur. He claims not to acknowledge him as ruler."

"Does he now?" King Loki stood up and advanced on the elderly Asgardian, drawing a dagger from the belt around his armored torso. Insubordination wasn't something he was a stranger to, but Loki wouldn't put up with it any longer. He drew his lips back over his brilliant white teeth. "Tell me, Marh—do you believe this little farce will win you anything?"

The old man looked at him silently. He was ancient. His hair was thin and wispy, like smoke; his eyes shone with the light of someone who'd lost their youth but not their spirit. "My farce," he said in a crackled voice, "as you call it, will win me something. Freedom. You are not my king, Surtur." He raised his chin. "And I will never acknowledge you as such. Go back to Muspellheim where you were spawned, beast."

Loki dragged the man forward with a magical flick of the wrist so they were nose-to-nose. "You _dare_ insult my master, old man?"

Smoke slithered out of his lips. Amora and Lorelei sensed his growing anger, because both of them stepped back and gave their new king the space he required.

"My lord," Lorelei said urgently. "He is a senile old man. He doesn't—"

"SHUT UP!" Loki whirled on her and gave her such a fierce look that her knees crumpled and she collapsed to the ground. "Know your place, sorceress. I will let it slide this once, but never again. As for you," he said, whirling back to Marh, "if you will not bow to Surtur, then you will spend what few days you have left rotting in the dungeons." He tossed the body of the old man away from himself and stormed back up to the throne in silence.

Marh whispered, "I still serve the House of Odin. I still serve you, Prince Loki."

He paused. The throne room fell deathly silent. No one spoke, fearing that their new king would kill them too if they did.

King Loki lowered his head so his eyes were hidden beneath the shade of the helmet he wore. "I am the Hand of Surtur," he said quietly, "and the House of Odin no longer exists." Then he raised his head and commanded, "Forget the dungeons. Send the old man to the gallows. I want to see him hanged, now."

One of the guards started up, "But Sire, you can't—"

"SILENCE, FOOL!" Loki boomed. "I do what I want! I will send that man to the gallows, and hang him along with any who dare speak the name of Odin to me! Now get that old man out of my sight NOW!"

The guards fell on Marh, who didn't struggle. He looked at Loki with wide eyes, but there was no fear in them.

Only hope—and loyalty.

 _I still serve you, Prince Loki_.

"Shut up," Loki muttered under his breath, sinking down on the throne and covering his face with his trembling hands. "Shut up." The throne room emptied—Lorelei and Amora hurried after those who dragged Marh's silent form out to the gallows—and Surtur was whispering something. Loki did not answer. He simply clenched his eyes shut tight, pressed on his eyes with the heels of his palms so hard he saw orange spots behind his eyelids, and whispered to everyone and anything who was listening: " _Shut up_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _To Be Continued..._


	8. O, Mighty Mjolnir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Through his dream-influenced mouth, Thor shouted at Loki, " _Of course I abandoned you! Why wouldn't I leave you to yourself? You're not an Asgardian—you treat magic as if it were a god and shun battle and the bravery an Asgardian needs to survive! You're weak! Worthless! An outcast! Why would I ever love someone as pathetic as you?_ "
> 
> In his dreams, Thor shouted at his brother, again and again, watching as his words changed his beloved brother into Surtur's Hand. His little brother attacked, forcing Thor to to relive that horrible battle all over again. And again. And again.

_I trusted him...and he turned._

_I will not make that mistake again_.

—The Fire Demon Surtur, the Lord of Muspellheim

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

Thor lay deep within the shroud of unconsciousness. Voices drifted around him, hidden in the thick fog of sleep, but not yet waking him. He was wrapped in a cocoon of pain, and though he realized that it must be his own, it was distant and numb. He felt it, but not as a part of him. More like a thin blanket covering him, not quite penetrating. Drifting within this nothingness for what felt like eons, he heard the occasional voice loud and clear to his right or to his left. Sometimes he recognized them—Sif and the Warriors Three and sometimes his distraught mother—and most times he didn't. Worried Asgardians and terrified healers.

"Why doesn't he wake? Has he given up on us?"

"Come back to us, Sire! We can't do this without you!"

"Thor! You must wake up!"

The crown prince of Asgard was much too tired, though he did not understand why. He wanted to feel the cold rain of his father's storms, the warmth of his brother's magic as he practiced, the thrill of the sparring matches with Volstagg and Hogun, Fandral and Sif.

And yet he could not sense them.

It should be nearing morning by now. Time to begin training with his new teacher soon. Why wasn't he waking up...?

Weariness took over, and the prince slid into the realm of dreams. Dreams that quickly transformed into nightmares. Nightmares of what his brother had become, how Loki had yelled at him for abandoning him...for never having loved him at all in honesty.

And no matter what Thor wished to say, no matter what excuse or truth he thought up, what came from his lips were things so very different.

Through his dream-influenced mouth, Thor shouted at Loki, " _Of course I abandoned you! Why wouldn't I leave you to yourself? You're not an Asgardian—you treat magic as if it were a god and shun battle and the bravery an Asgardian needs to survive! You're weak! Worthless! An outcast! Why would I ever love someone as pathetic as you?_ "

In his dreams, Thor shouted at his brother, again and again, watching as his words changed his beloved brother into Surtur's Hand. His little brother attacked, forcing Thor to to relive that horrible battle all over again. And again. And again.

After what seemed like the hundredth time he had been beaten into the ground by Loki's possessed magic, Thor suddenly started out of his sleep, opening his eyes wide to the pre-dawn darkness.

Every muscle felt bruised, every bone felt cracked or broken, and the painkillers flowing through his veins barely suppressed the pain. Thor was lying upon his back on a padded bed, covered with a thick and worn blanket, and breathing was difficult. The remnants of magic not his own told him that healer after healer had been brought in to assist with rescuing him, which would explain why his chest didn't feel like it was in a thousand pieces.

Groaning as he shifted positions and tried to stretch his legs, Thor noticed a shape move near him in the darkness. It turned out to be a little blond healer girl, who whispered, "Prince Thor, my lord, please don't move. We did the best we could, but your wounds are extensive. You need to rest!"

Thor stopped moving, but he did manage to say, "Water..."

He could see the healer's pale hand as a large glass of water was lifted to his mouth, whereupon he drank deep, quenching his thirst. This time, his voice wasn't as gravely, but the crown prince's throat was still sore as he spoke. "Thank you..."

"Of course, Sire."

"What...What time is it? What has happened...?"

The blond healer girl was silent for a moment before she said, "It's been about three days since you were brought to us by the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif. You've been...incapacitated since your defeat at the hands of Surtur's Hand...Many feared you would not make it..."

Inwardly flinching, Thor let out a drawn-out sigh. _My people must be in a panic. I have to do something, if only just to show that I am still alive_.

He began looking around his room, trying to spot a nearby window when he finally noticed one on the side of the room he had his back to.

Before his healer could ask him to stop moving so much, Thor turned over and settled down into the mattress of the bed, waiting for what seemed like eternity until finally dawn came about. Raising his hand into the air, Thor grimaced as his raw throat was irritated further. His healer had not yet noticed, so the prince began to channel the magic needed to pull a storm, even if only a tiny one, into the air. It was difficult. His weakness was hindering his ability to do so, and he was not particularly good at magic, not like Loki, and if Thor had not been so determined to prove that he was still alive, he probably wouldn't have been able to complete the task.

"My Prince! What are you—" his healer began just as the first roll of thunder boomed over the underground and shook the ground light as a butterfly's wingbeat.

He had done it, though, once the thunderclouds opened and started to pour, Thor felt drained to the point of deadly exhaustion. His breathing became labored and he collapsed back upon the bed, jarring his healing ribcage painfully.

Panicking, the healer sprinted to the doors and threw them open. Shortly afterward, two of the royal guards, as well as some more healers, rushed into the room. A woman well on in her years said to the rest, "Get him outside in the rain! Hurry!"

Thor could feel himself slipping away, his eyes fluttering as he tried to keep himself from falling asleep. As he began to sink, he felt a lifeline tether itself to him, followed by another, and then another. The healers were doing their best to lend him their strength, but it did little to help. His body was slowing down.

He felt himself moving, involuntarily, and his body shifted as water dripped down upon him. Little by little, his body was immersed in that familiar feeling of his thunderstorm, and it radiated throughout, giving him the strength to pull himself up out of the dark abyss.

The prince opened his eyes to find that the bed he was in was now next to the window that his thunderstorm was falling before, and that his blankets had been removed to allow raindrops that came through a crack in the window to fall on him.

Blinking the darkness out of his eyes, Thor raised his head to peer at all of the worried Asgardians crowded against his bed. The prince's strength was returning to him little by little, fueled by the cold feeling of his own magic that fueled the rainstorm outside.

And after a few minutes of rain steadily falling, Thor began to notice that Surtur's Muspellheim heat did not to diminish the affects of the storm. _Did...did Loki come to his senses?_ he wondered. _Has he beaten Surtur and come back?_

This hope filled Thor throughout breakfast and the painful healing session that followed. They had informed him that he would be bed-ridden for at least a week, even at his current rate of healing. There had been many injuries, including internal bleeding and many broken bones, and they needed time to heal properly.

It was not until late in the afternoon when Sif and Frigga were visiting that a messenger solemnly entered the room and delivered the news. "The Hand of Surtur and his forces have attacked once more, my prince. Long distance viewing of the areas has been obstructed, preventing us from seeing exactly what has occurred, but...there have been sightings of a 'rain of blood' falling from the clouds, along with reports of a multitude of bodies strewn about the countryside and in the streets. From this and the lack of any communication with this area of Asgard itself, we can only conclude that the area has fallen...I'm sorry, Your Majesty."

She stayed for a moment longer before bowing to Thor and Frigga and making her way out of the chamber.

Involuntary tears sprang to Thor's eyes and he buried his face into the nearest object, Sif's shoulder. His mother and Sif could only watch sympathetically and gently pat his shoulder with a hand or offer any comforting phrase they could think to say.

Thor felt like he stayed leaning on Sif's shoulder for hours, and by the time he finished lamenting, it was nearly dusk. Using his strength gained from the storm, he laid back on his bed, sent his mother and Sif to rest in their own chambers, and set about to planning.

If the doctor's predictions were correct, Thor had a week to figure out what to do.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

Days went by. As Thor healed, he grew anxious. He wanted to run, to get up and stretch his legs and spar, but neither his healers nor his friends nor his mother would allow him to even rise from the bed except to go to the washroom; and while Thor took advantage of what little movement he was allowed twice a day, it was not enough to satisfy him.

The news that kept coming in from around Asgard was not helping his recovery in the slightest, and many of his sleepless afternoons were spent lamenting into his pillow, or on the shoulder of one of his friends, mostly Volstagg or Sif, who were wise in the art of comforting.

Some areas of Asgard had fallen with barely a fight, whereas other sections had been the exact opposite: a complete bloodbath.

Every plan Thor came up with failed to stand up to his intense scrutiny, and by the time the Prince of Asgard—if he could call himself that anymore—was able to get to his feet without falling flat on his face, the underground kingdom was the only place left untouched by the new Muspellheim's spells and Loki's unholy reign beneath Surtur's control. And Thor knew what would happen next from the reports up above.

He knew what the Burned would do. What his _little brother_ would do.

Thor's throat choked with a coming sob. Despite rotating shifts, his healers had become accustomed to seeing him cry, surprising as it was to see a warrior as brave as Thor reduced to such bitter tears. And they would still give him the occasional shoulder to lean on when his friends weren't present.

That didn't prevent the thoughts that were racing through Thor's mind. _He'll kill me as soon as he lays his eyes on me this time. Or...Surtur might make Loki take his time and...What am I going to do? The only way I can save my people is by surrendering, but that would leave me to my fate either way. I may have to do it anyway, and simply expect myself to be imprisoned. Or banished... But what if Surtur won't give up even if I'm dead? With Father trapped in the Odinsleep, I don't know what I can do! I can't stop Loki's...No...Not Loki's. This is not Loki's fault. None of it. This is Surtur's fault. And I can't stop Surtur's new Muspellheim from happening. I...I just can't fight him when he has Loki under his control...I'm not strong enough, and I can't fight Loki, not again_...

An hour passed, then another, and Thor remained deep in thought.

Finally, the fallen prince's voice broke the silence of the makeshift healing chamber, startling the attending healer, a thin blonde woman, out of her own thoughts. "I need parchment, ink, and a quill. I wish to take a letter..."

The healer saluted to him, hopped up immediately and hurried out of the room, returning shortly with the requested items in her hands.

She asked, "Would you like me to act as your scribe, Sire?"

A simple shake of Thor's head was all it took for the healer to lay the proffered writing implements upon the end table. Thor rolled over with a groan, his joints aching with the effort as he lifted the parchment and quill over to his headboard and began to scratch out a letter. All the while, silent tears ran down his face, splotching the ink where they fell to the parchment, but the prince did not care. He would not hold that title for very long.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

Surtur's ever present echoing laughter floated through the corridors within the castle of Asgard. The scroll he and his subject Loki had received from Loki's oh-so-dear-brother was the best news they'd had all week! The Fire Giant had read it a dozen times already, and would read it a dozen more. He could not keep himself from chuckling as he read through it once again, through his own shadow eyes and through Loki's possessed red ones.

 

_To my dear brother, Loki_

_I cannot keep hiding any longer, nor can I keep running from you. Neither can I abandon the kingdom of Asgard to its fate and watch my people suffer for hiding me and keeping me safe. I know what I must do, and what I should have done a week ago when I approached you._

_In a single day, I will have recovered enough to be able to escape the confines of this healing chamber. Until then, I beg you, please stay your hand against attacking anyone else in Asgard. They are not to blame, as I had approached them. They will not challenge you. They can't._

_Moreover, when I am recovered enough for travel, I wish to meet up with you. I wish to surrender. A week I have attempted to form plans of any type, so that I might be able to do something, yet after a week of study I have come up with nothing that will keep us both alive and destroy Surtur. I cannot win without losing you, Loki. I concede defeat, and will leave myself within your care, loving or not. I just beg that you do not destroy and subjugate Asgard any longer, and that you release your hold on the Burned. I am unable to fight Surtur, and he knows it._

_If you acknowledge my surrender, I will await at the location and time you wish to accept my defeat. I can only hope that you will._

_Your brother, Thor_

 

Victory was within the Fire Giant's reach! It was so close he could taste it, shadow or no. All of Asgard, nay, the entirety of the Nine Realms, and even Loki's dearest brother, Thor, the crown prince all of the realm of the gods had been hoping on, was going to bow down to him. Of course, Thor would not get off so easily. He would have to be broken and remade so that he would be a most productive and loving brother, who would never leave Loki again and who would remain loyal to Surtur regardless.

Surtur's mind oozed warmth as he thought of the look on Odin's face when Surtur awoke him and he discovered that not one, but both of his sons had fallen subject to the Fire Jotunn's court. The thought was so wonderful Surtur would've drooled had he possessed his own body.

Loki commanded, grinning with the happiness of Surtur, "Amora and Lorelei. Take a return letter. 'To my brother, Thor...'"

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

It took everything Thor had to walk himself to the rendezvous point, exhausted in both mind and body. The past few days had crawled by painfully with Thor readying himself for the day that he would bow down to his own brother, and it had taken all Thor had not to run and hide like a newborn babe.

After donning his tunic and pants, his boots and his vest, the Prince of Former-Asgard had snuck out of the infirmary, leaving his explanation in a letter. His travel had started out shakey, with his legs still sore from healing, but any problems Thor had soon worked themselves out as he got back into the routine of marching with his head held high.

The area Loki's letter had pointed out was a large clearing, devoid of trees, within the vacant woods around Asgard that led to Kona Lifandi, the Valkyrie training camp. It was empty for now, yet Thor still stopped within the center, lying down immediately within the tall grasses to rest. Within little time at all, the former prince of Asgard had fallen sound asleep.

"Oh, Thor. Sleeping during your surrender? Do I bore you that much?"

The voice jarred Thor from his peaceful dreams, and he stumbled to his feet, noticing the moon had swung halfway across the sky. In front of Thor stood several guards donned in crimson, including Loki in his scarlet and black coal armor, who was looking down upon him with a barely contained sneer.

"There will be plenty of time for sleeping later, brother, believe me," Loki hissed, his fingertips sparkling to life with red power. "Kneel before me."

Swallowing and staring up at his little brother, Thor shakily dropped onto his knees and lowered his head in front of Surtur's Hand. _I can do this...I can't mess this up...I have to do this by the conditions my brother and I had agreed upon_.

His thoughts did not prevent the clear tears from flowing down his bruised cheeks, not unlike the blood of all the Asgardians and the innocent children who had died in this war.

Loki gloated over his fallen brother, his bellowing laugh ringing out across the clearing. "So weak. So powerless. Has the Mighty Thor fallen so easily? You are not even worth your title of as Prince of Asgard, which no longer exists. Oh, yes, my dearest brother. Soon it will be known realmwide that the Mighty Thor has surrendered and left Asgard to perish. Everyone in the Nine Realms will know how Surtur has defeated the strongest son of Odin. And then? And then I will make sure to properly train you to be a worthwhile addition to our court. Now, what position could you have? Royal Guard? Court Jester?"

Thor flinched and lowered his gaze.

Loki sneered, his hate filled voice hissing from between his teeth, mixed with Surtur's snarl. "...Royal Pet? Oh, that sounds like it would have a good ring to it. The former Crown Prince of Asgard, reduced to nothing more than the obedient pet of Surtur and the new King!"

Thor's eyes clenched shut, the shame of Loki's heated words digging into his heart. A single sob escaped from Thor's lips. His purpled cheeks were soaked, the ground beneath his face wet with an elder brother's sorrow.

Next to his ear, he heard steady breathing, and then Surtur's deep voice. "I must say, you held out for longer than I thought you would, son of Odin, but you are my prisoner now, and you will be bound like one."

The feeling of magic was in the air around him, and Thor was surprised to feel bindings and heavy chains attach to each of his wrists, and a thick band around his throat. Almost immediately, he felt his magic and his strength dim and then vanish, seemingly sucked away by the inhibitor placed around his throat.

Loki turned to his guardians and barked, "Get moving! We have a distance to walk and a prisoner to export, and I want to be back in the castle by dusk!" Turning his head back to Thor, he said, "My dearest Thor, get to your feet. We march. As of now, you are prohibited from using magic—not that you really could before—until the time when you have been properly made into a loyal member of Surtur's court, and who knows how long that will take with a will like yours...or not. Now, MOVE!"

Swiftly, the guards took up flanking positions around Thor as he shook the tears from his eyes, getting to his feet as Loki began the long march through the winding paths of the forests. The shackles and chains clinked together as they walked for what seemed like hours, Thor's head hanging the entire way as his feet dragged upon the packed earth.

As the forest turned to sparse burned trees, and then the occasional building, Thor's downcast eyes widened as realization hit him. They were passing through the center of Asgard, and not just through the outskirts, but straight through the center. As the procession continued, Thor dared to look around him, noticing the buildings under repair, and even worse, the many eyes upon them.

The former prince could feel the heat of their gaze upon him. After all, it was him, not Loki or Surtur, that they blamed for the needless destruction of their town, along with the deaths of so many of their friends and family. Thor rapidly set his eyes down back to the ground, if just to avoid the residents of Asgard, or what was left of it, with their gaze.

It seemed like forever, but finally the tiny parade marched their way out to the perimeter of Asgard's main city and into the forbidding depths of the Mountains surrounding the area and the castle. While the paths through the forest in the mountain still seemed to be intact, they felt dangerous and foreboding. Leaving the beaten path here seemed as though it would mean certain death. But Loki would not allow Thor to die just yet, or rather, Surtur wouldn't. Thor kept quiet as the wild canopy overhead began to block out the tiny amount of light that escaped from the scarlet eclipsed night.

Something Thor had noticed during his stay in the medical chambers was that every couple of days, the heat would die down to just bareable. _Surtur needs Asgard to stay alive. No water means no plants. No plants means no subjects. And no subjects means no nation to rule over. At least he hasn't corrupted Loki so much as to destroy all that Asgard is... At least he is still in control enough not to bring about an eternal realm of fire_...

The trip back to the castle was spent in silence, even when the small group of travelers were walking through the mostly empty streets of what remained of the city. The entire time, Thor kept his head low and his eyes lower, staring at nothing but the ground in front of his feet, and trying not to listen to anything but the clink of his shackles. The former prince did not want to see the blistering stares from the subjects he failed, nor hear their caustic whispers.

It took all Thor's strength to whisper his next words. "Loki...?"

The god in front of him tensed for a moment before snapping, "What does the prisoner want?"

The fallen prince flinched back with each word, then whispered in a lower voice, barely able to be heard, "I...want to see what remains of the castle, of my childhood home before...before you do what it is you have planned for me..."

Loki and Surtur kept silent up ahead, momentarily crushing Thor's hopes of being able to see what remained, or maybe even salvage something of his from the wreckage.

However, his hopes were returned once they reached the large gates signaling their arrival at the audience hall of the castle of Asgard, taking a deep breath as he glanced up at the foreboding doors opening to his new life.

A hand in front of Thor stopped his advance, though, and he lifted his head to stare directly into Loki's empty garnet eyes.

Loki said, "Surtur is not without some mercy. You have two hours, no more, and you will be accompanied by my Burned. You will be on your best behavior, my prisoner, or my punishment will be swift and severe. Do I make myself clear?"

At no other point during this entire ordeal had Thor felt as powerless as he did at that point, and his voice refused to be heard. Instead, the prince merely nodded, too frightened by his brother's demonic gaze to say anything else. _I cannot imagine what it must be like for Loki. Oh my little brother, I'm so sorry I failed you_...

"My lord," one of the guards braved to ask, "is it wise to let the prisoner out of your sight?"

Loki stared deep into Thor's eyes for a few long moments before turning away and making a motion with his glowing hand. "It will be fine. There's nothing he can do. He's half-dead already. Let him have a look around. Let him enjoy his memories. They're all he'll be left with for a while."

The red-armored warriors guarding Thor turned away and flew off to other matters, only to be replaced by a duo of black-eyed Burned, a young boy and a young girl. A nod of Loki's head was all it took to spur Thor to make use of the two hours given to him...

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

While exploring the remains of the Asgardian castle, with the two Burned in tow, Thor came to the realization that everything he once knew within the grand palace was gone. His old bedchambers had completely caved in, and many of the other rooms that had a personal touch were irrevocably changed. This castle was indeed Surtur's now.

However, as Thor was passing by one of the many old halls, he sensed something completely new, something that he hadn't ever sensed before. Nearby, there was a hole in the wall, which lead into a chamber he recognized very well. Upon entering it, Thor felt a wave of peace and happiness wash over him.

The room itself was nothing spectacular, just stone walls that hid within them the actual prizes. Standing in the center of the room was a large pedestal with runes on the side. Upon the altar was a large hammer made of uru, ornate and massive, emitting a gentle and soothing aura that made Thor feel as if he were immersed in the light of the sun. Not the heat of Muspellheim's deception, but the warmth of the love of his family. And the Hammer sensed his distress, beckoning him to take a step forward and come to it.

_Mjolnir...? This is the weapon's vault?_

Thor's mind was at a loss of what to think, so he entered the weapon's vault he remembered well, where his journey began six months ago, and stepped toward the Hammer. As the Burned followed, they entered the light Mjolnir gave off and collapsed onto the floor, freed of Surtur's spell.

Thor took no notice of this, instead enraptured by the pedestal before him. Reaching a hand up, he touched the handle of the Hammer, and his mind was instantaneously drawn into them. Endless warmth and tranquility surrounded him, and he felt as if it were his best friend in the entirety of the Nine Realms, and he had known it his entire life. As if the Hammer had been constructed just for him and told him it was time.

" _I was constructed for you, Thor Odinson. I help those who are so ever in need of our aid. I help those who are worthy. And you, son of Odin, need me more than anything right now. And you are indeed worthy_."

The voice was deafening, as if a crowd of Asgardians were all speaking in unison somewhere inside his head. "How... How can you help me? The fight is lost..." A feeling of sadness and self-loathing crept into Thor's heart. "I was never able to lift you before, how can I now?" He felt hopeless, but that feeling was swiftly brushed away by the aura emitting itself from the Uru Hammer.

" _The fight is only lost when you completely give up, my master. Your brother and your world can still be saved, but only if you accept my help to banish Surtur. You are worthy of Mjolnir now, Odinson, because you want it to rescue someone you love, not to prove your own strength. Will you use Mjolnir to defend Asgard?_ "

As Thor watched incredulously, his bindings crumbled into dust, and the inhibitor around his neck vanished in a puff of smoke. Even the chafing around his wrists from the shackles and the bruises and cuts from his fight with Loki and Surtur had been healed.

Opening himself up and offering everything he had in his heart, Thor replied, "I will." And the sudden influx of warmth filled him to the brim, and past that to bursting, his body shining with power as he reached his hand out, seized Mjolnir by the silver handle, and lifted it from the pedestal as if it weighed the same as a feather.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

Loki was running as fast as he could down the halls, Surtur's anger showing as crackles of power pulsed from Loki's fingertips and his garnet eyes. His shadow altered shapes. The new king of the Fallen Asgard had been keeping close watch upon his treacherous brother through the eyes of his Burned. The moment he had lost contact, he'd dropped everything and took off for the region of the castle they had been in.

Sprinting by, he caught site of the fractured wall to the weapon's vault and turned into the room, stopping and covering his eyes due to the brightness inside. As his sensitive red eyes adjusted, he caught sight of Thor at the center of it, the source of the blinding radiance.

And in his hand was Mjolnir.

Loki bellowed like an abomination, Surtur shrieking his smoking, blackened rage through Loki's rapidly moving lips, "You FOOL! You fucking D-list godly son of a bitch! What have you done? I trusted you! You _lied_ to me!"

In the back of his mind, Loki was panicking. _Surtur, that's the Hammer of the Mighty! He—He's planning to use it against us!_

"Don't you think I already know that?" Surtur bellowed from the shadows. His teeth grit painfully, reflected in the shade. "No matter. He lost to us once before, and he will again." The fiery jotunn rose in a shadowy arch above Loki's head and aimed his voice down at Thor. "This time you will die, Odinson! I hold no more patience for you, and I can see that my mercy has fallen upon deaf ears!"

Loki's palms flared with fire, and a flurry of crimson, crackling bolts flew through the air at Thor.

Each was deflected in turn by a simple swipe of Mjolnir, the flaming bolts bouncing off the walls, ceiling, and floor around him. One blasted a hole through the roof of the chamber, masonry crumbling to reveal the darkening crimson sky.

Thor spoke, taking a step closer to Loki and Surtur's shadow with each word. "No, Surtur. Not this time. Now I have the power to fight you, and to free my brother. Surtur, demon of fire and lord of the land of Muspellheim, which is not here in Asgard, I, Thor Odinson, hereby banish you from the lands of Asgard and Jotunheim and Vanaheim and Alfheim and Midgard and the rest of the Nine Realms, to be imprisoned within the one place you will not be able to bother anyone else for as long as your spirit continues to exist. You will burn in agony, and not even your fire heritage will protect you. You thought to control my home. To control my precious little brother, myself, and all of Asgard. I cannot forgive this blatent act of terror and obvious war. Now it is my turn to show no mercy...and you will learn what _I_ am capable of when my family is _threatened_."

The chamber shook with every blast.

Loki stood his ground until Thor was no more than a blade's-length away. The two brothers stared at each other—azure eyes filled with self-regret and sorrow, garnet eyes filled with confusion and terror and forced hatred—and for the first time in a long time, they saw each other perfectly.

Surtur bellowed from the shadows, "NO! You will not succeed, Odinson! You will never succeed, not while I have the strongest sorcerer in the Nine Realms under my control!"

Loki screamed in defiance against Thor, froth escaping from his lips as he gathered as much power from the depths of Muspellheim worlds away into the next spell as he could. His hair stood on edge and his body looked as if it might burst into flames.

But Thor would not have it.

In return, he wove a spell of his own with Mjolnir, and a crackle of lightning came from the hammer to encircle Loki's waist. The shadow of the great fire demon bellowed as the power of the Hammer of the Worthy weakened him, causing the power within his host to flow back to Muspellheim at such an alarming speed that it left Loki's knees trembling together.

Thor bellowed in a voice that rivaled Odin's, "Surtur! From this moment henceforth, you are banished from Asgard and sentenced to imprisonment within the stones of Muspellheim for all eternity, never to know salvation, never to see the light of day, never to know the cool touch of freedom, never to escape! BEGONE! And free Loki where you stand!" Thor rose to his full height and put all of his power into his uru hammer as he made his choice.

Surtur shrieked into the light. "No...No! I will not be defeated! NO...!"

The light of the Worthy tightened around Loki's body, weakening and pushing the fire demon's influence from his mind. When the demon's hold began to deminish, what remained was Loki within his old green eyes, who swayed before collapsing to his knees on the stone floor.

At first, Thor was overjoyed. His brother had returned to him, and in perfect health! But as Thor watched, Surtur's twisted black shadow reached out to Loki's head once again, stretched fingers going for his forehead.

Thor raised Mjolnir into the air. "If you touch him," he bellowed threateningly, "you're DEAD!" Electricity bounced off the uru of the hammer and from Thor's blue eyes. His entire body burned with it. He felt it on the edge of his mind, the strength of Odin pulsing through him, channeled into the weapon clutched in his hand.

Loki raised his head as Surtur's shadowy fingers reached down and brushed against his forehead. As if from a distance beneath the surface of an icy ocean or a lake, he could heard the soft sounds of the possessed night, and he could hear the loud enraged roar of his irate brother.

"GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF MY LITTLE BROTHER, YOU SON OF A BITCH...!"

Surtur retracted his claws from Loki's forehead, too late as Thor charged at him with the hammer. With a single swing, Thor struck the flaming shadow across the throne room. Surtur screamed as his red influence was separated from Loki's mind with a loud _SNAP_.

Loki felt his own thoughts become peaceful, and an intense lethargy overtook him. He collapsed forward as his strength failed him. Strong bars caught him just before his forehead struck the ground, and Loki nuzzled against the warm wall of flesh. _Thor_. The iron bar around his waist must've been Thor's arm. Loki felt the warmth of Thor's body radiate through him, driving away the headache that'd been persisting for the past week and a half. He felt weak, and knew he'd probably be asleep for a long time to come as soon as they were sure they were safe.

Tears of relief streamed down Thor's cheeks as he looked down at his little brother. A thankful sob escaped his throat when Loki blinked up at him. "Brother," he murmured. "Thank Odin you're all right."

Before Loki could smile and agree, the two were suddenly aware of an intense heat coming from behind them.

Thor whirled with Loki still clutched tight in his arms. Behind them towered Surtur, in all his unholy glory. No longer a shadow, a nonexistence in the realm of the real. Surtur was as real as Thor and Loki, as real as a nightmare come to life. He towered above the two sons of Odin by three times their father's height. His horns curved like a cow's and were the color of scars. Fire danced around his waist and his eyes. His lips drew back into a goopy smile, silver fangs dripping with green venom. "You look surprised, son of Odin," the fire demon sniggered. The sound was like nails grating on the marble walls of the palace.

"How...?" Thor whispered. He'd banished Surtur to Muspellheim. He couldn't still be here, not here in Asgard.

"Just because you are worthy of the Hammer," snarled Surtur, teeth bared, "does not mean you know how to use it." He waved a clawed hand at Thor. "And now, what should I do with you? Kill you? No, it would be much too easy. Make you into my pet? Tempting, but too boring. Turn you into a Burned? While I would enjoy seeing your family distressed over you, there may be a way around it. Hmm..."

Surtur's eyes lit up bright crimson, and his smile was terrible.

"Ah...I know the perfect punishment for you two."

 _No! No no no nonononononono! You said you would help me defeat Surtur!_ Thor mentally shouted at Mjolnir, resting carelessly in his slack grip, his arms entangled around Loki, who remainded half-conscious.

Before Thor could say or do anything, Surtur waved his hand over them. A strange rainbow aura passed over the brothers, and Thor felt as if someone had sucker-punched him in the stomach. He had only ever felt this way once—when he and Loki and the Warriors Three had used the Bifrost to travel to Midgard.

Immediately Thor began to panic. He wrapped his arms tight around Loki and held on to Mjolnir's handle.

Surtur's booming laugh echoed over him, as well as his shout of, "You will do as I say now, son of Odin, and my command is that you disappear. You and your brother will be banished to Jotunheim, never to return to Asgard for the rest of your days...as short as that will be." He grinned cruelly. "Enjoy your trip."

Thor opened his mouth to scream, to panic. But in the last moment he steeled his resolve and refocused his efforts more on being brave in his final moments in Asgard. His arms tightened to vice-grips on his little brother's red armored chest and he squeezed Mjolnir until his knuckles were purple. Watching as the rainbow aura gathered around him in a thick haze from the palm of Surtur's hand, a loud whine began to rise into the air, and just as it reached an unbearable pitch, the light from Surtur's hand surrounded him and pulled, and Thor and his half-conscious little brother winked into another dimension.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _To Be Continued..._


	9. When Your Gods Fail You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This is a punishment for leaving you to suffer, Loki? Are you still upset? Was Surtur right and you do hate me?"
> 
> Thor dropped his head and let the tears trickle down his cheeks and splash to the stone floor. The last traces of sunlight vanished under the horizon, and Jotunheim was dominated by an obtrusive night. The stars and the moon shone brighter and more brilliantly than they ever had in Asgard.
> 
> Thor pleaded, "Help me, Loki...I need you. Come back to me."

_I ruled it. I took it over. Asgard was mine now._

_Whatever else it had been before, it belonged to me now. And I would make it in my own image. Neither Odin nor his damnable sons had the ability to stop me now. They were no more powerful than the babes of Midgard, squalling and red-faced as their weak fists waved in protest._

_There was nothing they could do._

_Nothing_.

 

—The Fire Demon Surtur, the Lord of Muspellheim

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

His legs were shaking and his breathing was labored. His tanned skin was littered with sharp cuts and bruises, and his once-brilliant-gold hair was made sordid by the dirt and grime and bloody snow that clung to it and pinned the hair to to his neck. A son of Odin should never look so unkempt, not even when rushing to their death in battle. He had no time to care for vanity now that Surtur had sent him and Loki to lifelong banishment in Jotunheim where they were ment to toil until they died from the frigid cold.

The prince of Asgard had spent the past few hours hiding from possible Frost Giant sentries and scouts in the concealing darkness of the unlit sky and in every hole and wedge in the frozen forest he could tuck himself into. He couldn't let them find him, or it would be the end of him—if the terrible winds of Jotunheim didn't see to it first.

He had tried to snap down into the smaller trees to escape the jotunn scouts that fateful night, but something went wrong. A branch had deeply cut his arm and he fell to the ground, the immense pain that moving it brought telling the former prince that it was broken.

Thor would have used what little magic he had to mend it if he knew the spells, and even if he did, he hardly had the strength to stay moving, let alone muster even the weakest spell.

He couldn't remember the last time he he'd eaten anything substantial, as his diet since his banishment to Jotunheim by Surtur hours ago had consisted only of whatever meager bits of grass and fungus he could lower himself to force down and find through the frozen snow.

He was completely alone, abandoned.

Where was Loki? They'd been transported to different areas of Jotunheim, it seemed. Thor had panicked at first, screaming his brother's name until he was hoarse and his throat was scraped raw. Hours had passed in concerned silence, and Thor knew he had to move. But he was all alone. Forsaken by everything he knew and sent from his own home like a nasty mouse.

But he would not go quietly into the darkness. He would get back at Surtur for this one day. He would bide his time, wait it out, train when his strength returned; soon, the susceptible Asgardians would go against their new king. And leading the charge against this usurper would be Prince Thor Odinson himself, alongside his brother Loki and his father Odin, fresh from the Odin sleep, looking down at the fiery coward that dared to oppose his as he squirmed in the thunderstorm and the magical destruction Thor and his family would bring about in their last stand against him. It would be glorious.

A tree branch snapped behind him with a bang like a door.

Thor panicked and scrambled into a frozen pricker bush, wincing as the thorns added more cuts and scrapes across his bloody body. But anything was better than being discovered by the Frost Giant scouts that were scanning the forest. He kept silent, cringing at every snap from the branches under his feet; it was becoming increasingly difficult to remain standing.

"Anything?" one of the patrollers asked.

"Nothing."

"For the love of Ymir," the first scout spat, "why would the king even send us out this way? Nothing this way but that cave where Elderstahl was."

Thor's ears perked at the mention and an idea struck him. Of course! The cave of Elderstahl would be vacant. Thrym had taken the sword and put it somewhere else. He could hide in the cave without being discovered and search for Loki when his strength returned.

The mountain was just on the edge of the valley and the forest; he could be there in just a few hours.

Thor closed his eyes and cursed Surtur as a wave of painful images bombarded him. His old mentor Ander of the Einherjar had lied to him—he told Thor that nothing could hurt him in his memories, and yet as he was forced to recall memory after memory of what had transpired these past two weeks, he couldn't think of a time when he was in greater misery.

Asgard didn't deserve this hell that Surtur had cursed them with, but he would personally see to it that the fire demon felt their suffering ten times over.

He stopped in his tracks when a ferocious growl rumbled from behind him.

Turning over his shoulder, he could see solid golden eyes glowing from the blackness of the forest. A faint blue glow was visible around them, and Thor lowered his stance. The wolves of Jotunheim were no real threat to any capable Asgardian with his skills as a warrior, or Loki's skill in the magical arts, and he had made a game of hunting them with his father when he was young and they strayed into Asgard.

Jotunn wolves were cowardly creatures of the night, as all things nocturnal often were, and would often flee in terror from the fiery glow of the King of Asgard's Odinforce magic. When Thor was younger, but older than he had once been, he would simply snap his fingers and summon a little lightning, blind the hounds, and take them down at his leisure. The sport had lost its touch ages ago. If he recalled, Loki had a fondness for setting their tails on fire and watching them run in circles.

But now the long night had given the worshippers of darkness foolish courage, and one stupid dog thought it was powerful enough to prey upon the eldest son of Odin.

He scraped his boot against the ground once or twice and charged into the thicket with Mjolnir aimed to smash into the beast. He felt a slight resistance, but no creature's hide was too thick for the Uru Hammer to shatter. A sad howl was cut short and Thor realized with some satisfaction that he must have broken the beast's neck with his swing.

He cried out when he felt a sharp pain on his side and his back and saw that two more of the creatures had ambushed him. Throwing the dead wolf off him, Thor whirled around weakly to scare the creatures away, but to no effect. The wolves easily lept back and dodged his swing and pounced again, tearing savagely into the prince's flesh. Letting out a pained bellow through his teeth, the prince of Asgard fled from his attackers after smashing them off with his hammer. His boots pounded against the snow, kicking up ice and slush and slippery snow as he dashed and maneuvered and slid around each tree.

A chorus of howls echoed around him as more Jotunn Wolves joined the hunt.

Even in the dark of night he could see their blackened, ghostly forms savagely racing over the hills by the trees of the forest and realized with growing anxiety that they were closing the distance between them.

What he would give to be able to turn them all to dust with the magic Loki possessed, or better yet, leave the slobbering mutts to snap at the air as he took flight to leave all his earthly concerns behind. If only he'd mastered the art of flight sooner...

Another howl came like a blade, cutting through Thor's dreaming and clipping his back and his arms to send him falling back to the dark earth. The howl persisted and the prince turned to his side to see his little brother running eagerly at his side.

"Loki?" Thor whispered in uncertainty.

For it was Loki, back when his little brother was younger and followed him everywhere, where he worshiped Thor like a king. Thor was taken back to a time when the two laughed and played and loved without question, back to those blissful days of the youth they were forced to abandon when they came of age.

"You're going to have to try harder than that if you want to beat me this time, Thor!" Loki teased before taking a turn and vanishing behind a snowbank.

Then suddenly, like waking from a nightmare, Thor found himself dashing through the palace's garden. The golden sun was shining brightly above in the clear blue sky, and some curious birds were flitting happily above him, singing words of encouragement.

"You won't beat me this time, Loki!" Thor laughed back.

He took in the bliss of it all, praising his Guardian Norn, if he even believed in such a thing anymore, for saving him from memories tainted with Surtur with these heavenly memories of the youth he loved so dear.

The lush green blended into brown stones as he mischievously scurried down an alley. He could hear Algrim's angry voice howling at the guards chasing after him and his brother, and couldn't help but laugh at how worked up the Dark Elf got at everything. It was amazing Algrim managed to live so long when he was always so stressed. _Letting responsibility overwhelm you is no way to go through life_ , Thor decided.

But it was time to pick up the pace—if he didn't run quicker, he wouldn't be able to produce a large enough bounce to blow away the leaves.

Thor's legs moved faster and faster, fighting against the air as he dove to the earth. The forest was coming closer and closer, and he could barely make out what looked like some poor child being chased by a pack of Jotunn Wolves. He didn't feel much like helping the fool who'd gotten himself in this kind of trouble, but he always enjoyed reinforcing his authority and showing off his powers.

Lowering his head to move swifter, Thor prepared to break through the trees and tackle one of the animals at the front of the pack. A sudden surge of agony tore through his back and his upper arms, as if they had burst into flames.

Thor spun himself around in a panic, unable to pull out of the drop.

Thor crashed through the edge of the forest, his broken arm bent grotesquely at his side. He tumbled for a few feet and landed on his side, moaning weakly.

The prince of Asgard forced an eye to open, the cuts on his face stinging from the tears washing over them, and saw the Jotunn Wolves stalking closer from the snowbanks and the dead trees, preparing to finish him off.

He shut his eyes tight and fought with whatever pathetic strength he still had to move. He could only force himself to his knees, and by then it was too late. The wolf at the head of the pack released a howl and lunged at the defenseless prince.

Thor was in disbelief. It couldn't really end like this...not like this...not yet...

Another belowing howl filled the air, though this time it was accompanied by frightened whimpers and frantic scurrying. The prince of Asgard opened his eyes again and saw the Jotunn Wolves retreating back into the cover of the forest with their smoking tails tucked between their legs.

Thor twisted his head this way and that, trying to find his savior.

Nothing could have matched his rapture when he looked to the east and saw the sun climbing over the horizon. The wonderful, golden-yellow sphere had sensed Thor's peril and rose to aid the prince in his hour of need.

He closed his eyes and let the heavenly warmth wash over him, delighting in the familiar sensation of the sunrise.

But it was wrong. Something about it was terribly wrong. Thor opened his eyes again and stared at the rising sun in a glazed befuddlement, trying to understand how this could be happening. This wasn't the sunrise he remembered. Just as he could sense the difference between his father's harsh and powerful storms and his own revealing and peaceful rain, and his mother's powerful and tranquil magic and his brother's mysterious and uneasy spells, he could tell that this was something new.

It was cold and powerful within itself. On the surface it appeared frozen, but a deep well of strength was hiding just beneath. It was a light of salvation to all of Jotunheim, but in Thor's eyes it was the most wrathful act of vengeance he could have ever imagined.

The Frost Giants had a different sun than Asgard did.

Because there was no Asgard anymore.

Thor turned his head to the sky and screamed with all his heart and soul. He screamed for his betrayal, he screamed for his people, he screamed for the end of his kingdom, he screamed for his little lost brother alone in the frozen wasteland of this Not-Asgard, but above all else, he screamed for his end.

It was all over now. His plans to vanquish Surtur were dashed. Asgard had fallen. He could never convince his subjects to side with him now, even if he did find Loki and awaken his father from the Odinsleep; they'd all turn against him and side with Surtur just to get their revenge on him for failing, on Loki for causing it in the first place, on Odin for not being their to stop them.

Thor screamed at the sunrise that was not of his Asgard again and again and again with all the fury and anguish he could muster and screamed until his lungs caught fire. Odin damn if any of the Frost Giant scouts had heard him now.

It was all lost.

The flame in Thor's eye reignited, and the prince turned to the mountain. He strained himself as he started his arduous climb up the dangerous and craggy iced mountain, his muscles begging for a peace that Thor's fury would not allow.

Thor lost his grip on a crumbling edge made entirely of fragile ice and stone and landed on a sharp frosted rock. His body shrieked in defiance as he forced himself off the ground just to continue up the rocky face. His right arm was broken, any strength he had in him was gone, his body was weak, and his world had vanished.

But he was laughing.

He was laughing through his bitter tears which frozen to his cheeks as they fell and became clear diamonds, through his misery, through his pain. Because he knew that he would always triumph. When he found his little brother in the unforgiving lands of Jotunheim, the two of them together would be unstoppable. When he found Loki, they would form a plan and they would head back to Asgard, or what it was now, and they would defeat Surtur. Just like their father did ages ago.

After several hours of struggling, Thor finally dragged himself to the summit of the mountain where a pile of frosted boulders separated him from safety.

Staggering to the top of the rock pile, Thor began to push the stones away with whatever life was left in him. His lungs and heart cried for air, screaming for a peace that would never come; he was not about to let weakness overtake him now. The god of thunder's rabid determination drove him to heave every stone from its place and a manic shudder of glee rippled from him with every rock that tumbled away from the blockade.

He was so close now...

He was so close now...

With his last ounce of strength, the starved and prostrated Prince of Former-Asgard finally removed the last boulder, laying bare the calm lair. Another memory spontaneously struck him: a thought of his previous journey to the cave with his little brother and the Warriors Three. 'Twas here that their nightmare began. Thor turned back around at the horizon and glared viciously at the imposter sun in the last stage of its flight through the blackened sky of Jotunheim.

He didn't see anything impressive in Jotunheim's knock-off sun. He wouldn't even hesitate to call it pathetic. It had given him false hope, and it was as desposable as Surtur. Maybe when he and Loki regrouped, he would destroy it too.

All at once, Thor's battered body failed him and the prince collapsed to the ground.

 _No!_ he thought. _Not now!_

Putting his mind and energy—if he even had any anymore—back at the task at hand, he turned his body around and crawled through the mouth of the cave.

The setting fake sun cast a beam of light that stretched to the center of the tomb that illuminated the sole occupant: a gaping hole in the floor that once led to a huge adventure.

The prince's bemused contemplations were cut short by a dull pain in his chest. Thor pulled himself toward the gaping hole as quickly as he could; he would be unable to keep his exhaustion and pain at bay for much longer. When he was half way to the maw of his first adventure outside of Jotunheim, the ray of light had shortened noticeably and no longer reached the center of the cave.

He stared miserably up at the sky with watery azure eyes. "Please..." he whispered to the heavens, to any Norn who listened, to the one he sought. "You're the only one I have left...You're all I have, Loki...I need you..." He was shocked at how hoarse and raw his voice had become.

If Loki was anywhere to be found in Jotunheim, Thor had hope that he would hear his pleas. Unless Hela had already claimed Loki's spirit and had dragged him to Niflheim. Would she? Yes. She would. Would Loki allow it? If he knew that Thor was still alive, he would kick and scream the whole way down. Thor grinned lightly at the thought of Loki fighting to find him. If Odin could see him now, screaming and lamenting and weak as a newborn babe, would he help him? Or would he tell Thor that he was a man now and had to handle such things on his own? Thor liked to believe his father would always be there for him. If not...then his brother.

"Please, Loki...I'm begging you..."

He whimpered as he squirmed in place. His body grew heavier with each passing second as the sunlight continued to retreat from the cave, leaving him in frozen darkness.

"Loki, if you're still alive, I need you here..." His pleas were punctuated by pained grunts as he struggled on. "And if you're dead, Loki...send me a sign. Please, I need you...Gods, I need you, Loki. Please, don't leave me..."

A deathly silence echoed through the cave. Thor wasn't sure what to expect. He thought something would have happened when he finally came to the cave for shelter and called for his brother. He'd break through the ceiling? He'd materialize in front of him?

The cave continued to dim and the heavy quiet began to weigh down on the desperate prince.

Thor whispered through his raw throat, "Why aren't you here? You were always there for me when I needed you."

The sky and the icy walls and the cold air began to blear away and grow soft through the darkness and the tears. Terror began to seize him as the pain in his chest grew too strong to be ignored. How many of his ribs had been shattered, he wondered.

"This is a punishment for leaving you to suffer, Loki? Are you still upset? Was Surtur right and you do hate me?"

Thor dropped his head and let the tears trickle down his cheeks and splash to the stone floor. The last traces of sunlight vanished under the horizon, and Jotunheim was dominated by an obtrusive night. The stars and the moon shone brighter and more brilliantly than they ever had in Asgard.

Thor pleaded, "Help me, Loki...I need you. Come back to me."

He hated himself, more than he hated the enemies of Asgard. More than he hated Surtur. How could he expect that Loki would come to aid him after all Thor had let him suffer through? He'd be lucky if Loki only showed up to spit in his face.

Thor grit his teeth against the sobs. He was stronger than this. He was stronger than any other Asgardian, minus his father. But he was also a big brother, and he'd failed Loki. He'd failed to save the one boy in the entirety of the Nine Realms who was more important to him than his own life.

A burning in his chest jostled him from his thoughts as he let out an agonized moan.

Sif, Fandral, Hogun, Volstagg. What did he ever see in them? How easily they had befriended him. How easily they had come to assist him. But they were not brothers to him. He had fearlessly faced down Frost Giants and Algrim the Dark Elf, and he had been too afraid to help his little brother when he needed his big brother most. Surtur's mind games had failed him, and Surtur had confessed all he knew to the eldest son.

And Thor listened...

And he believed him...

Thor's head began to throb in synchronization with the pain in his chest, now pounding as if his heart was trying to escape.

He believed him. The monster that fought his father years ago. The beast that attacked his kingdom and corrupted his brother's mind with guilt. The creature that delighted in turning friend against friend for his own amusement. The villain that once swore an act of neutrality and had retracted it just as fast when he saw an opening he could take.

Thor listened to him.

And he let him in.

And he let him _win_.

As horrible understanding dawned upon him, Thor felt a long lost warmth return to him, only to be washed away by a wave of fatigue that immediately stole the life from him. The pain was receding now, but all other feeling vanished with it.

 _Oh great gods, no_...What had he done? What had he done? He had sold his soul to the fiery demon, sold his very existence. He had abandoned his brother when he needed him most. He had put his warrior status above the love of his little brother. He had abandoned his kingdom and his people because of his own pathetic fears. Surtur had been playing with him the whole time. When Surtur was corrupting Loki and making him doubt Thor's love, he was playing with Thor and making him _make_ Loki doubt his affections. Thor and Loki had been pawns in his game since they found Elderstahl. This was all part of Surtur's game.

 _All of it_.

Thor wanted more than anything to run away. To run from this tomb, to run from his failure, to run and find Loki and his father and his people and beg for forgiveness he did not deserve. But he could not move—he could only writhe in sorrow in the cave where his enemy had taken control of him.

This was all his fault.

He let Surtur do this to him, to his brother. He had listened to the fire demon's mendacious words, unheard as they were, and let himself be convinced to abandon, to not question, to not care. He had done it all to himself.

Thor accepted with numb dolor that there was no peace in the end.

The walls rattled and shook with a vicious, howling laughter of the winds outside, mocking him and shredding him apart. This was all that was left for him.

Kind Volstagg's generosity couldn't help him now. Fandral's advice wouldn't save him. Hogun's silent praise wouldn't reverse what he'd done. There was no Algrim to protect him from the harms of the eight other realms. His father's fearsome strength and loving care was long since extinguished. His mother's soothing love was lost to the ages. There was no Sif to find inspiration from. He had no Loki to share his feelings with, to lament his actions with, to beg forgiveness from.

Try as he might, he couldn't remember what Asgard looked like. There were no songbirds chirping around him. In his memories his family and friends were standing in a circle above him, looking betrayed and hurt. The air was stale and damp as he took a deep, final breath.

Thor's world went black.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

All of the renmants of the one true Asgard wept as news of the catastrophe at the castle spread. There had been no news of their beloved princes Thor and Loki in two days and the heat had refused to go down. Asgard had been in a panic when Prince Loki had been taken over by Surtur two weeks prior, but now the realm was in absolute chaos, for the Asgardians knew Surtur had taken full control of their home.

Queen Frigga sadly trudged through the halls of the underground hut acting as her palace.

She had spent the first half of the day personally seeing to it that Sif and the Warriors Three would be there to protect the entrance to the underground city should Surtur discover its entrance and attack.

The rest of her day was spent in the company of several terrified advisors and healers. She had narrowly managed to calm them and ensured the Asgardians that Thor and Loki would return to them as soon as they were able, that they were still alive.

She never liked lying, though she often found she was quite adept at it, being the Queen of Asgard, but for the sake of Asgard's remaining sanity she could not confess the truth.

She realized she was making a mistake—it was her refusal to face the truth that allowed her family to fall to such devastation. But what else could she do?

Tell them that not a soul had seen their princes since Thor's attempts to surrender himself to Surtur? That it was likely that Thor and Loki may never be found until they decided to be found, or until they were deceased, which might be sooner rather than later? That Frigga had tried without success to rouse her husband from his deep Odinsleep and try to set things right, and that Odin may never awaken ever again? That Surtur may have won with Thor's surrender and her sons' disappearances?

She felt a coldness creep over her, and heard a dark voice whispering in her ear, telling her that lies were easier to take than painful truths.

 _No. It wasn't right_ , she scolded herself. She was not ashamed to be afraid, but she would not let her fear destroy what remained of Asgard. She continued her march with renewed vigor, her sudden searing determination burning away the doubt that had hovered over her.

She would try again to awaken her husband. And whether she met failure or success, she would confess it all. Loki's sudden paranoia and declining health, how the possible threat of Surtur's power was never released to the public in the years since his supposed destruction, but most of all, she would tell them of her own failure to act to save her sons from this disaster, which led to the destruction of all Asgard as they knew it.

She wasn't so certain her subjects would want her as their queen anymore if they knew what she'd help fuel, but if that was how it was meant to be, so be it.

She would endure the hate and the whispers and the burden of the destroyer of Asgard, if it were her title to bear.

She stood before the doors of the only room in underground Asgard with a window, the infirmary her son Thor had spent days in recovering from the fight with his possessed brother, and looked up at the ivory building glowing faintly in the dark crimson night sky, with the burned moon on the western horizon at the end of its orbit waiting for the sun to rise and continue the red existence of the new land of fire: Muspellheim.

The queen of former-Asgard turned to the east, her teal eyes hopefully scanning the horizon for any trace of her children. Finding none, she solemnly began her solitary journey out of the room. She prayed that her subjects would have their king again soon, and she prayed for her sons to return to her unharmed.

"No matter what has transpired, or what you've done," Frigga whispered to the wind, "I will always love you, my sons. And I will always be proud."

For the very first time, the queen of Asgard understood her husband Odin's anguish when he fought in battles he couldn't win, but also the anguish her son Thor must've felt knowing that he'd helped on the path to Loki's possession. And she finally understood the crushing guilt of knowing the monster history would make her family become someday, be it in the present or the future.

"Please, Thor, Loki," she whispered to the empty air through her tears, "please come home to us."


	10. Giving Up The Struggle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he spoke again, his voice was low. "Brother, I think we…have to seek help from the Frost Giants."

_My new Muspellheim isn't as much fun without them. It's kind of lonely without Odin or Thor or Loki to defend it, to challenge me. Even if I would just knock them down like flies, it would be more interesting than this patheticness._

_The Asgardians who remain do not even try to defeat me. They bow their heads and submit. They fear me more than they feared the son of the former king when he was under my control. They fear me more now that I have erased their princes from the face of Asgard. For all they know, I have murdered those damn brothers and scattered their remains across the Nine Realms._

_I wonder what Odin Borson's pretty wife would think if I told her that._

_I suspect she'd scream. I suspect she'd cry and sink to her knees and wail to the heavens. I suspect she'd damn me and everything I ever did. I suspect she'd come at me in a fit of rage and seal her own fate. I suspect she'd..._

_I do not know Frigga well._

_For all I know...she might just stare at me with the heart-broken glare of a mother._

_And I know that—if she choses that path instead of screaming—I will be in danger. For I am older than humanity, as old as the gods themselves, and I know the sayings well. You have nothing to fear from one who yells, who rages in the open._

_You have everything to fear from one who holds their silence_.

—The Fire Demon Surtur, the Lord of Muspellheim

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

The pain was agonizing.

Exactly that—Thor was in agony. He couldn't register any other emotion than that. He couldn't understand, couldn't make sense of the situation, of what was happening. His body tried to reject the pain, but to no avail. He was sucked again into the blackness that cut time into pieces. How long had he been like this? A few minutes? A few hours? A few days? Was it years? It felt like it. The pain cut through reality, making it harder and harder for Thor to tell which was which.

He tried hard to separate them, to take his mind off the pain.

Non-reality, the dreams that drifted through the back of his mind, was a cool blue, and it didn't hurt as much. Reality, what was really happening, was blood-red, and words couldn't describe the pain that he felt. Being sawed in half, run over by a runaway cart, stabbed repeatedly by an Einherjar, trampled by Frost Giants, and submerged in poison _all at the same time_ would have felt better than this.

Reality was knowing that he couldn't possibly move when the pain was making him feel like he was flopping around like a fish.

Reality was knowing that there was something important, something to protect, and not knowing exactly what it was.

Thor lay deep within the shroud of unconsciousness once more. For a second time that week, he was wrapped in a cocoon of excruciating agony, and though he realized that he had done something wrong to damage himself, he couldn't remember what. He barely remembered who he was, let alone where he was. The cocoon erased his memory, made him as dumb as an animal struck hard in the head by Mjollnir.

A cold feeling, welcomed instead of pain, pricked up his back at the mention of the Hammer of the Worthy. Why did it sound so familiar to him? It was still sitting back in the weapon's vault in Asgard's castle, wasn't it? Somehow he felt that he was lying to himself, that he was forgetting something important.

The darkness took over with a wave of ice, and then washed away into anguish. He couldn't breathe—this was different than the drowning sensation he had gotten before, when it felt like there had been water all around him. This was much different; it was too hot in his throat. 

Pieces of him were dissolving, snapping, shattering...

Black spots covered his vision as his eyes snapped open. More blackness—was it nighttime? It felt wrong—a new ache stabbed icily through his stomach. He struggled to protect his stomach from the new pain, but he was weak. His lungs ached, oxygen burning away...

The suffering faded away for a moment now, but he clung to it. Loki, his dear little brother, who he vowed to always protect—where was he? He was in terrible danger. Thor knew this, but he couldn't remember why.

Terrible thoughts passed through his mind. Images of his little brother, his Loki, crying, screaming, burning, dying...

How long had passed? Seconds or minutes? The pain was gone for now. Numb. He couldn't feel. He still couldn't see, either, but he could hear. There was oxygen in his lungs again, scraping in rough pockets up and down his throat.

He tried to feel his heart, tried to find it, but it was already lost inside his body. He couldn't feel the things he should, like his toes or his fingers, and nothing felt like it was in the right place. He blinked and found his eyes. He could see the light. Not what he was looking for, but right now it was better than nothing.

There was an image before him, something he needed to see.

His eyes focused; suddenly everything was perfectly clear.

Loki didn't cry when he saw his brother. Was it truly Loki? Or was this just a hallucination that the pain was causing? Thor didn't care—it was his brother. Loki still didn't cry, but his expression was so shocked that it was almost funny. His small, perfect face shone as if it were the sun. His irises were still the same emerald that Thor remembered. Not red. His skin was still the pale, creamy ivory that he remembered. All besides his cheeks, which flamed with color. His face was so perfect that it was almost stunning. Impossible. Unbelievable.

And then Loki was gone. It had all been a lie, an illusion caused by the pain. His little brother was nowhere. Thor couldn't see or hear him. _No!_ He wanted to shout at whoever or whatever had taken away his brother's image. _Give him back!_

But the weakness was too much. His arms felt like mush for a moment, and then they felt like nothing at all. He couldn't feel them. He couldn't feel himself.

The blackness rushed over his eyes more firmly than before. Like a thick blindfold, firm and fast. Covering his eyes and his body with a crushing weight that would have snapped bone. It was too exhausting to keep resisting it. He knew it would be easier to give in. To let the darkness take him over. To let it push him to a place where pain no longer existed, to a place where fear didn't exist.

If it had only been for himself, he wouldn't have been able to struggle against the dark for very long.

But this wasn't about him.

If he did the easy thing now, the thing he longed more than anything to do, then he would be hurting _him_.

Loki Odinson. Loki. His brother. His life and Thor's were twisted into a strand. Cut one, and both fall. If Loki were gone, if something happened to him, Thor wouldn't be able to live. He would live on in his body, of course, but he would be forever dead inside. It was the same with Loki; if Thor were to perish in battle, Loki would suffer the same fate.

But it was so dark here that Thor couldn't see his brother. He knew far well that Loki wasn't here. Where was he? Did he even know what was happening?

Nothing seemed real. That made it hard to give in.

He kept pushing against the blackness, but it was solid. He was a god, but he wasn't a Titan like that blasted Greek Atlas was. He couldn't hold the sky on his shoulders, and this was probably the same sensation the damned Titan had felt. But he wasn't a Titan. He was an Asgardian, more powerful yet somehow weaker now, and it was all he could do to keep from being obliterated.

He held the darkness of Death just inches from his face.

It wasn't enough, though. As time ticked away, the blackness of the Realm of the Dead consuming eighths of the inches that Thor had, he tried to think of something to keep him hanging on. He couldn't pull Loki's face into view. He couldn't remember what his little brother looked like.

That terrified him, and he wondered if it was too late.

He felt himself slipping away—there was nothing left to hold on to.

 _No!_ He had to survive this. Loki was depending on him. His parents Odin and Frigga wanted him to protect and take care of his little brother. Something snapped inside his mind, and an image of a young black-haired emerald-eyed sorcerer appeared in his mind.

 _Loki_.

And then, in that instant, he could feel something. He still couldn't see, but he could feel. Like phantom limbs, he felt his arms gain strength, the strength of Odin, and push back the blackness. And inside his arms was something smaller than he was, but that something was very warm.

His brother. His little brother.

He had done it. Against everything, he had found the strength to survive. He had been strong enough to survive for his brother, to hold on long enough for Loki to grow up and master his magic and live on without him.

The speck of warmth in his arms felt so real. Like there was someone laying in his arms, cradled against his chest. Holding tight to the memory of his brother, he knew that he would be able to survive anything.

The warmth in his arms got more and more real, and the heat gradually started to move up to where his heart was. It became warmer and warmer, hotter and hotter. The heat was so real now that it was nearly impossible to believe that it was all just an illusion.

Hotter.

Uncomfortably hot. Too hot. Much, much too hot...

Like grabbing the hot part of an iron poker fresh from the fire, his automatic response was to drop the source of the heat. But there was nothing in his arms to drop. His arms were not curled at his chest, holding something there. They were dead, limp things lying somewhere by his side. The heat was coming from near him.

The burning grew—rose and formed until it surpassed anything he'd ever felt.

He felt the pulse behind the flames raging against his chest and realized something was there. Something was watching him. Something was standing above him.

He wanted to reach to his side and slay the source of the heat—anything to stop the burning.

But he couldn't feel his arms, couldn't lift one dead finger.

Falling out of a tree when he was five and breaking his arm. That was nothing. He'd take that now, a hundred times. A hundred hours in the waiting room with a throbbing forearm. He'd take it and be thankful for it. Slipping on the stone stairs during a downpour and splitting his head open when he was eight was nothing. He'd take that a thousand times. A thousand times in the healing chambers getting stitches put in his head.

He'd take that and be grateful for it. He'd even do a little tap-dance and shriek in gibberish in the village square.

The fire blazed hotter and hotter and he wanted to scream. To beg for the creature to kill him now before it got worse. He didn't want to live another second with this pain, the heat. But his lips wouldn't move. The weight was there, crushing him.

He soon realized that it wasn't the weight holding him down; it was his body. So heavy and so limp and so dead. His body was burying him in the fires that were chewing their way from outside his body, spreading the pain up his shoulders and down his arms, scalding their way up into his throat, licking at his cheeks and his lips.

Why couldn't he scream?

Why couldn't he move?

This was nothing like he had imagined death would be.

If he couldn't scream, how could he tell the one watching him to kill him?

All he wanted was to die. The whole of his existence, his meaning to live, didn't outweigh the pain.

It wasn't worth living through one more breath.

There was nothing but white-hot pain. Just the fiery suffering, and his silent shrieks, begging for death to come soon. There was no such thing as time now. Just eternity and infinity. An eternity of agony that would last until the end of time, which in this place, would never come.

The only moment of change came when the lower half of his body, deadened until this point, flared with the pain. It doubled. Some broken connection in his spine must have shifted and brought feeling back to all of his body, knitting together a perfect ladder for the pain to spread and destroy him. The endless burn raged on.

It could have been second or minutes, hours or days, weeks or years, but time had started to come back.

Slowly, but surely, he could feel the control return to his body. Though the pain did not decrease one little bit, Thor had truly begun to appreciate each lick of stabbing hurt. Once he did that, it didn't hurt as much. It was still the worst feeling in the world, but he had started to become use to it. Feeling and strength was starting to return. He knew when he was able to twitch his toes or curl his hands into fists, but he didn't act on it.

He could remember why he shouldn't scream. He could remember why he had committed himself to enduring this horrible anguish. He could remember, though it didn't seem possible, that there was something important to live for.

This happened just in time for him to hold on when the crushing weight lifted from his body. To the creature approaching him from the distance, watching him, if there was anyone there, there would have been no change. He wouldn't have moved, in their eyes. But for Thor, as he struggled to keep the screams and thrashing locked tight inside him, it felt like he had gone from being tied to the burning stake to gripping the end of it to keep himself from being pulled out of the flames.

He had just enough strength left to lie there and not move while he was being charred from the outside in.

His hearing got clearer, and he could count the strong beats of his heart. He could hear the sharp breaths escaping from his throat.

He also became aware of the quick, uneven breaths that came from somewhere close by. These moved quickly but constantly, so he concentrated on them. There were rapid footsteps, the uneven breaths growing in volume as they came. The footsteps got closer, much quicker, more desperate and clumsy, and Thor could feel a fierce pressure on the inside of his arm.

"Thor! Oh gods, Thor!"

He knew, more than anything else, that if he unlocked his teeth, he would lose it—he would shriek and screech and writhe like a dying wolf. If he opened a single eye—moved just one finger—then his fortress would fall, and that would be the end of his control.

Through the darkness of his pain that held him for what felt like endless years, he felt the blazing creature grasp his arm harder. The grip of terror returned. Against the agony ruling his body, he jolted back. His hands scrambled for purchase on the wet ground, slipping on something sharp and cold. _No more pain. No more_. Thor couldn't remember why, but the heat brought back terrible flashes of fresh, dangerous memory.

Loki standing above him in red armor, eyes burning like coal pits, glowing with unholy fire, screaming curses at him, hurting him, laughing at him, a vulgar grin on his face as he watched Thor struggle on the ground.

The heat was right next to him, grabbing his arm.

He lost his resolve and unlocked his teeth—he screamed, scraping his throat.

The burning sensation fell immediately at his side with an agonized moan. Thin manacles wrapped around his shoulders, seizing him tight. Burning. Burning him. _Burning_. He struggled and screamed in terror again, and then screeched when a broken rib shifted as a result of his movement.

Through the crimson darkness now filled with stabbing bursts of fiery pain, he heard a voice screaming for him.

"Thor! Thor, can you hear me? THOR!"

The iron-pressure moved to his fingers. He knew it would be harder not to answer this voice, because he recognized it. He couldn't place it, but he recognized it well. The voice was male and young, thick with worry and agony.

The racking flames went right on blazing. But there was so much space in his head now. Room to analyze the familiar voice and recall every bell-like note it had made, room to remember what had happened to him and to Asgard, room to look ahead to the future and wonder about what would happen, with still more than enough space for more. There was still more room to suffer. And room to worry.

Where was his brother? Where was Loki? Why wasn't he here?

The creature beside him was sobbing, iron-manacle hands running up and down his arms, prodding broken bones and flinching when Thor screamed. "Oh gods...Oh gods, this is all my fault. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for this to...I'm so sorry, brother..." The voice crumbled into a fit of sobs.

The creature placed a hand on his forehead. Surprisingly the hand was cool, not burning like the rest of it. On the good-side, the agony started to fade. Slowly, but it was retreating. He felt himself getting excited. The pain was on its way out...

Then more bad news: The fire in his chest grew hotter.

His heartbeat was picking up speed, moving at a frantic speed. The thumping echoed in his ears stronger than any other sound.

"I'm sorry, Thor," the voice whispered. "I'll save you."

The pain and flames outside of him and inside of him retreated from his hands and wrists, his feet and his ankles, leaving them cool and pain-free. But the agony retreated to his heart, which was now totally on fire.

The loudest sound was his frenzied heartbeat.

"It's almost over," the voice said, as if trying to comfort a child.

Thor's relief at his words was overshadowed by the roaring pain in his chest. His fingers twitched—the pain breaking through his façade. The burning creature became totally still and silent. The only sound that raged on was his heartbeat, thundering against his chest so fast that he thought it would burst through his ribcage and land on the floor.

A hand curled around his fingers. "Brother?"

Could he answer without screaming again? Thor considered this for a moment, and then the fire ripped through him like a stab. He clenched his teeth into a tighter lock than before, cracking teeth. It was best not to chance it.

His heart took off in that instant, beating like the wings of a bird, the sound almost a single thump. The fire flared up in the center of his chest, sucking the last remnants of the flames of pain from inside his body to feed the most scorching flame yet. The pain was almost enough to stun him, to make him shatter through his façade and scream again. His back arched, as if the fire was dragging him up toward the heavens.

He allowed no other part of him to move as his torso thudded back against the frozen ground he was on.

The battle raged on. His heart was losing, racing to its final beat. The fire and pain were losing, too. They had consumed everything worth consuming. The fire constricted, concentrating on his heart with a final, horrible surge. This surge was answered by a deafening thump, deep and hollow-sounding. His heart thudded twice, and then thumped softly once more.

There was no sound now. No breathing. Not even his own.

Something moved where his heart had been.

It seared to life, a dull pain this time. Compared to the last pain, this one was enjoyable. His heart restarted, hollow-bumps echoing in his ears.

For a moment, the absence of pain was all that he could feel. His mind wondered what had happened to the pain.

And then he opened his eyes and gazed ahead in shock.

Everything was perfectly clear. There was no light, since it was deep in the heart of night, but he could see. There were no stars in the cave, but he could still see. There was no moon in the cave, but still, he could see. Looking down at his hands, laying against something soft, he could see each individual snowflake. He could see the black specks of dirt, the white specks, the gray specks, the pale ones, and the ones that he didn't have a name for. He could see each ridge on the grains, learning that none of them were round like they appeared to mortal eyes. He could taste the air around himtaste the dust motes, the mix of scents as they whirled around above his head. And most of all, he could taste an almost honey-lilac-rose scent, the strongest and closest thing to him.

He heard the sounds of someone, breathing as he did. The snow shifted beside him, and his mind flared.

 _Danger_.

Something pressed firm against his hand.

 _More danger_.

He acted upon it. Air hissed up his throat, spitting through his clenched teeth with a low, menacing sound like a growl of a wolf. Before the sound was out, his muscles arched, twisting away from the feeling. He flipped off his back in a spin so fast it made the image of the cave a blur. By the time he found himself crouched down defensively, clutching Mjolnir in his hand by its handle, he already understood what had startled him.

Loki was leaning against the wall on the other edge of the cave, where the snow gave way to thick steel-gray rocks. Thor stared at his little brother in shock. His trembling hand was reached out toward Thor, his expression pale and anxious.

Loki was the most important thing, but Thor's restored vision and strength catalogued everything else, just in case. His eyes automatically searched for any sign of danger. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. It took him a few seconds to register that there was no danger. His brother's eyes were on him. _He_ was the danger.

Relaxing, Thor looked into his brother's face.

How many times had he seen his brother before? How long had he watched his brother practicing his magic? How many times had he seen how perfectly his little brother could look when he wasn't trying, an easy task for him, to be so attractive without trying. It had happened more than enough times.

Thor may as well have been blind.

For what felt like the first time, Thor truly saw his brother. Loki's face shone like the moon, and his eyes radiated with the color of untainted emeralds. His skin was moon-pale, his hair dark as ebony, long for his age. Loki was wearing some terrible form of blazing armor that burned like heated coals. Thor found himself shying away from his brother's glowing armor. The memory of Surtur and his takeover of Asgard made his head hurt.

Loki moved slowly away from the wall—each step taking about half a second, each step moving with the sound of the wind moving over stones outside the cave. His shaking hand was still outstretched toward his brother.

"Thor?" he asked in a low, calming tone. "Brother? I know it's disorienting, but you're okay. I healed you. You almost died."

Thor saw the tears in the corners of his brother's eyes, the streaks marring his pale face. Loki was the creature who'd been beside him when he was in agony. Loki had been afraid that he would lose his brother, and he almost had.

"Where—" His throat tightened, and he sucked in a painful breath.

Loki chanced a step forward and relaxed when Thor lowered Mjolnir to his side now that he saw there was no danger. "Brother," he repeated quietly, "I know it's a little odd right now, but...give it a moment. Everything will be all right."

Thor knew he probably shouldn't attempt speaking again, but he tried. "Loki, what happened? I—I didn't know where you were. I panicked. Where were you?"

His words came out as a muffled jumble.

"Don't speak," Loki said, appearing immediately at Thor's side. He touched his arm. "You're cold as ice, brother. Here." He reached up and started to unhook the burning armor from his chest and arms, tugging it off. "This'll burn a bit—and I know it's not the most pleasant given what's happened, but bear with me?"

Thor winced as Loki detached the armor and strapped it into him. The transition from cold to hot was uncomfortable, to say the least. His body flared with pins and needles, and he resisted the urge to tear it off and hurl it across the cave.

Loki wrapped the crimson cloak around his shoulders. "There. Is that better, brother?"

"Wha—" Thor coughed painfully, his ribs rattling against the burning armor. "Your arm—Loki, you are burned."

Loki looked down. There was a winding burn up his forearm, turning his pale skin a dark pink. It looked tender, and Thor reached out and brushed the tips of his fingers against it.

"Oh, that." Loki looked at the ground. "The armor...burned me, I guess. It'll heal."

"Are you....sure?" Thor inhaled and tried to quell the growing pain in his ribs. He kept a steady grip on his little brother's wrist, fearing that he would vanish. "Brother, what...where are we going to go now? We can't...go home, so...what are we going to do...He tried to keep his voice steady, to keep Loki as calm as possible. He was the older brother, and it was his job to ensure that Loki was all right.

Loki didn't answer him immediately. He stared at the icy cliff walls, searching the light blue ice of Jotunheim.

When he spoke again, his voice was low. "Brother, I think we...have to seek help from the Frost Giants."

"No," Thor said weakly.

"Brother..."

"No. Never. We're Asgardians, Loki. They will never help us."

"Thor." He sounded exhausted and weary, as if he'd aged thousands of years and was trapped in the form of youth. Thor imagined that, in a way, he had; being possessed by a fire jotunn had to be the worst experience imaginable. Being forced to fight his family and kill hundreds. "If we want a chance—any chance at all—;of defeating Surtur, for good, then we have to seek help from the Frost Giants. They're the Fire Giants' natural enemies, and if anyone knows how to defeat them, it will be the Frost Giants."

"They won't help us. Not after what I did..." He remembered how all of this had happened; like the arrogant fool he was, he'd dragged his friends and his brother into a world of trouble and nearly started a war.

Loki's eyes softened. "Brother."

He placed the palm of his hand against Thor's cheek. The sensation, the affection and closeness of the touch, sent chills through Thor's spine, cut through the burning sensation of the armor.

"We have to," Loki said in a low murmur. "For Asgard. For ourselves. For Father."

Thor looked into his brother's emerald eyes. In them he saw all the hope and love of a child, and all the wisdom of an adult. And Thor knew, in those moments, that his brother forgave him for all the wrongs he'd done, all the bad things, all the mistakes, and he also knew that Loki loved him with everything he had.

"You are right, brother," Thor said. "We must seek help from the Frost Giants."

"Then let's go."

"Loki—are you cold?" Thor eyed his brother's thin tunic and loose pants, remnants of the clothes he'd worn under the burning armor he'd shed to ensure that Thor fully recovered from his near encounter with death.

He shook his head. "Nope. Like I said six months ago, I'm tougher than you." He flashed Thor a brief grin.

Thor laughed and watched as his breath smoked around his head. "Fine. Then I'll keep my word and let you handle the first Frost Giant."

They shared a laugh, and for the first time in a long while, Thor felt a shot of comfortable warmth shoot through his body, chasing away the doubt and the insecurity.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

The Frost Giants did not receive them well, as they should've expected. Thrym's son bellowed at them and called them "Asgardian scum" and accused them of siding with Surtur due to the fact that Thor was clad in armor crafted by the Fire Giants, until Thrym came outside to inspect what all the noise was about.

He listened to Thor and Loki's tale without saying a word, then nodded once they concluded. "I had feared Surtur's return when we felt the heat from the direction of Asgard," he said. "I am sorry for your loss—but what does that have to do with your presence here in Asgard?"

"We seek sanctuary," Loki said.

"Never!" Thrym's son bellowed, stepping forward and glaring down at them.

"Be silent," Thrym snarled, and his son took a shaking step back, bowing his head in respect. "My enemies come to me for sanctuary? How curious. However, I suppose that you are at my mercy and if the situation were not dire you would not come to me. Therefore, I shall grant you sanctuary as long as it keeps Surtur out of Jotunheim. Should he enter Jotunheim in search of you, we shall no longer grant you freedom. We will cast you out to protect yourselves. Surely you understand that."

"We understand," Loki said in a quiet whisper.

"Then enter," Thrym said, and he stepped aside to allow the brothers passage. "By my word, as long as you are in my castle, you will be treated as Frost Giants, as members of my court. No one shall raise a hand to you unless you raise one to them."

Thor and Loki shared a look, searching each other for doubts, then stepped into the gates and did not look back when they heard the ice crystals bang shut.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

Time passed. Thor and Loki were unable to keep track of it. The days were shorter in Jotunheim, and the nights were sometimes so long they consumed two or three days.

They trained constantly. Thor sparred and dueled with some of the strongest Jotun warriors, and Loki practiced with the few sorcerers King Thrym kept safe in his castle. The Frost Giants helped Thor perfect his swings and his dodges, and taught him some moves that he never imagined the hulking Giants could perform so gracefully. Loki spent countless days in the library, searching all the books he could lift and mastering all the spells he could get his hands on: fire and earth, wind and water, ice and shadow, lightning and darkness, and so many others their names slipped his mind.

They were fast learners, and their teachers were silently proud. The Frost Giants tried to keep the pride off their faces whenever their smaller, newer pupils did right, for they feared that if they let the princes of Asgard see how proud they were, they would take advantage of the Frost Giants.

When they weren't training, Thor and Loki slept in their chambers, coiled in each other's arms to keep warm. They took turns watching the door at first, not trusting the Giants. But after a while the brothers were able to fall asleep without worry.

Once it felt that they'd been in Jotunheim for months, Thor and Loki decided they were ready to return to Asgard and drive Surtur from their home, for good this time.

And so, one day later, Loki approached the Frost Giant blacksmiths with the armor of Surtur in his arms.

He held the armor to them and then threw himself on the ground, begging them to transform it into two different sets of armor that he and his brother could use to fight Surtur. The Frost Giants stole a look at him, and after a moment of stunned silence, the eldest said in a booming voice, "When a son of the almighty Allfather comes to us and throws himself on the mercy of his sworn enemies as you and your brother have—we would have to be fools not to agree. Very well, Asgardian. If it is two sets of armor you seek...it shall be done."

Loki lifted his head up. "I—you're serious?"

"Indeed. Have I given you reason to doubt my word?"

"No, no. I just—I mean...thank you."

The blacksmiths waved off his thanks as if it were of no more use to them than his brother's tales of the other realms in the dining halls of Jotunheim, but when Loki looked closer, he saw the dark red eyes of the Frost Giants gleaming with joy; no Asgardian, or Frost Giant for that matter, had ever thanked them.

Two nights later, the blacksmiths entered Thrym's throne room with two sets of armor.

They were beautiful works of art, really. Loki's armor was melded with greens and golds and dark silvers, fastened with leather and metal plates up the arms and protecting the torsos. Thor's was a plate of metal with cloth and leather on the back and legs, bearing the round symbols of his tunic to protect him. The metal plates wound up his arms and ended in bracers. And finally, the Frost Giants had created helmets for them: Thor's made entirely of silver with arcing feather shapes rising from the sides, Loki's fastened of elegant gold with two horns rising from his head like those of a great animal.

"They will protect you from the Fiery One's fire," the elderly blacksmith tells them. "And they will grow and mold as you do. These suits of armor will outlast even the Allfather. One day, when we are battling one another on the fields, these suits of armor will still gleam as they do this day and work just as well. I hope you are satisfied."

"We are," Loki said with a courtly bow. "Thank you."

The Frost Giant blacksmith snorted, but Thor saw his eyes sparkle with something he never knew the jotunns possessed: pleasure.

Thrym towered before them, tall as a statue and just as intimidating. "Remember this, sons of the Allfather," he boomed. "Once you defeat the Fiery One, this temporary truce between Asgard and Jotunheim will be absolved. These past few days will mean nothing to us any longer, and if we should meet again, it will most likely be as enemies. But I hope you will never forget what you've learned here. I know that we shall not forget."

Thor lifted his head and stared the king in the eyes. "We are grateful," he said. "You have shown us hospitality after all we've done, and you have granted sanctuary to the sons of your enemy."

"Were the situation reversed," Thrym said, "I hope it would be the same."

"After today," Loki whispered, "perhaps it might be."

"We shall see." Thrym's wise eyes shifted over the brothers, flickering with faint hope. "We shall see."

He did not bid them farewell. It was not jotunn nature to say goodbye. They simply turned and went away, leaving the brothers in the middle of the throne room with the chance to leave when they were prepared. Their vanishing act left Thor and Loki stunned to silence, and they kept their silence as they placed their armor on.

"Nice feathers," Loki said when Thor set his helmet on his head. His eyes were teasing; a little bit of foolishness was necessary to keep them both sane.

"You looking to start something, cow?" Thor's gaze flickered to the curved horns rising from Loki's head once he settled his own helmet on his head.

Loki rolled his eyes. "Look to start something with the Mighty Thor? I would not dream of it. Do you think me that foolish, brother?"

"How do I look?" Thor asked, ignoring his little brother's question. He shifted his shoulders and studied the metal boots on his feet. He may have been prepared to march into Asgard and face the Fire Giant before, but standing in the new armor crafted by jotunn hands, he felt his courage draining.

"Like a king," Loki answered, his eyes flashing with pride.

Thor gave him a thankful look. His younger brother had always been a mystery to Asgard. While Thor had been eager to spread his wings, fight in battles against griffins and dragons, and go off on exotic adventures, Loki had always been more hesitant. True, he always had Thor's back, but sometimes it felt that he only assisted in times of extreme danger. But after all that had happened, here Loki was, standing tall at his side, prepared to fight.

As if sensing Thor's concerns, Loki smiled, erasing the fire in his eyes and replacing it with affection. "I should let you know," he said in a conspiratorial voice, "that I stole some weapons from the vaults."

He reached into his boot and drew out a thin green-bladed dagger.

Thor threw his head back and laughed. "Loki," he chided, "such a rude way to show your thanks to our guests."

Loki's lips spread over his brilliant white teeth. "Oh, it was just a dagger, Thor. Too tiny for them to use anyway. It would've rusted eventually had it been left to sit there. I'm doing them a favor and taking it off their hands."

Then after a moment of silence, Loki spoke again, confirming Thor's previous thoughts. "I've been by your side the whole time," he said, his voice serious. "You're my brother and my friend. True, we have our moments when we do not see eye-to-eye, but...never doubt that my love for you is genuine."

Thor reached his arm out and patted Loki on the shoulder, staring into his eyes. For the moment, it was just the two of them, the brothers of Asgard, the heirs to the throne, the sons of Odin Allfather and the hopes for the future.

"Now," Loki said seriously, "we have a jotunn to slay."

Thor nodded and turned his attention to the sunrise of Jotunheim. He longed to feel Asgard's sun on his face. Raising Mjollnir high above his head, he asked, "Then what are we waiting for?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _To Be Continued..._


	11. What Happens in Kona Lifandi Stays in Kona Lifandi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Without warning, Thor said, "I love you." He wasn't looking at him, just at the floor. "More than I've ever—" He broke off for a second, catching his breath. Loki was surprised; it wasn't like Thor to be this nervous. "More than I should. I love you, Loki. Whether Father and the Nine Realms agree with it or not, I do."

_Two little princes survived the cold embrace of Jotunheim's winter. I don't know how._

_Together, with their father-given magic, they restored Order to Asgard. My new Muspellheim was destroyed as quickly as it'd been constructed. My world was destroyed. My creation...broken apart like the walls of Jotunheim during the first wars when Odin Allfather was still Odin Borson._

_They used that wretched Odin-magic of theirs. The elder summoned the storms and the healing rain. The younger called on the sunlight and the healing touch of white snow. Plants began to regrow. The famine and the drought were quenched by the Odinsons._

_Life returned._

_**They returned.** _

_**I told myself I would take pleasure in torturing them slowly and painfully, dragging it out as long as I could. I told myself they would not survive long enough to do anything to stop me this time. I told myself that they would learn to fear me as they should have all along**._

_It was...horrible, to say the least. They had broken my world to pieces. The sons of Odin had ruined everything I worked so hard for. They'd ruined the world I created from scratch! They returned Asgard to its former boringness, back to a world constructed of Odin Allfather's wisdom and thoughts._

_**Odin Borson was right about me all along, it would seem. I am nothing but a monster**._

_And then...?_

_They came for me_.

—The Fire Demon Surtur, the Lord of Muspellheim

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

"Shouldn't we be heading straight to Asgard?" Loki maneuvered himself carefully from one long beam to the next. The beams were set fifty feet up in the pit of Kona Lifandi's training ground, left abandoned by the Valkyries who had rushed to defend Asgard from Surtur and had been knocked into the underground kingdom with the other survivors.

Thor made a faint noise that Loki knew meant "no". He sounded tired, and Loki couldn't blame him for it.

He snorted. "You pressure us into leaving Jotunheim and yet you force us to stop here to train?"

"Can you truly blame me, Loki? Jotunheim was freezing."

"Let me tell you something, Thor." Loki sat down on a beam, letting his legs dangle out into the air; the crisp evening air of the Valkyrie training camp was considerably warmer than Jotunheim. Loki had thought that Thor would make him train in the new armor, but Thor explained that they would need to do that later—when the sparred and used their weapons. For the sort of training they were doing now, exercise meant to test their durability and agility, they wore loose tunics and drawstring pants made of cool black fabric. "What _you_ think is freezing and what _I_ think is freezing are two very different things. Once all of this is over with, we're going to have to sit down and have a very serious conversation about your ideas of cold."

"Are you planning on staying up there all night?" Thor stepped into the middle of the training ring and looked up at him. He was wearing the same black clothes as Loki, and his blond hair stood out like a beacon in contrast. It had darkened considerably in the darkness of Jotunheim, and Loki wondered if it would lighten up again when they entered Asgard.

Loki didn't even mind that Thor had blown off his obvious stab at Thor's inability to deal with the chill. "I thought you were coming up here," he called down. "Why aren't _you_ training, too?"

"I've already finished." Thor grinned up at him. "So? Do you want to practice a flip now?"

Loki exhaled loudly. Flipping involved hurling himself off the beam into empty space, and using his incredible balance and grace while he pushed off the walls and flipped himself over and under, in an attempt to twirl and kick and duck without constantly worrying about hitting the ground.

It was a warrior's trick, and he'd seen Thor do it thousands of times before. He actually managed to look graceful doing it, too—flying through the air, twirling and flipping and spinning, and he even managed to land on his feet with perfect precision.

Loki, on the other hand, had curled himself into a ball the moment he leaped off the ball and had plummeted to the ground. Thank the Nine Realms that Thor could move as fast as he did, or else Loki might have been a flattened god of mischief.

He was starting to wonder if it didn't matter that he was a son of Odin, one of the Nine Realms' most powerful beings. Maybe it was too late for him to be made into a warrior, or at least a fully functioning one. Or maybe, while he had inherited all the magical aspects, Thor had gained all the fighting skills and physical grace that came with it.

"Come on, little brother," Thor called up. "Jump."

Loki closed his eyes, spreading his arms like his father's ravens, and jumped.

For a single moment he felt himself hand in suspended motion, free of everything. Then he felt the familiar tug as the Earth drew him down, and he plunged toward the hard floor. Instinctively he put his arms and legs up, keeping his eyes squeezed shut. Oddly, there was a lower bar that his arm grazed, and he snapped his arm out and caught it. He jerked for a moment and rebounded, his body heaving to sit on the low beam. He opened his eyes after a moment of silence and found himself sitting just five feet above Thor.

Thor was grinning like an idiot. "That was amazing, Loki," he said. "I started to fear you would hit the ground."

"You would've caught me." Then he asked, genuine curious, "Did I scream?"

He laughed. "Like one of the frightened maidens Fandral seeks. Thankfully the grounds have been abandoned, or one might have believed I was murdering you."

"Ha. You can't even reach me, brother." Loki kicked out a leg and looked at the dark sky.

Thor's azure eyes sparked with lightning. "Care to make a bet on that?"

Loki knew that look. All too well. "No," he said quickly, shaking his head. He dug his nails into the beam. "No, no, _no_. I know that look, Thor. Whatever it is that you're planning to do, I want you to know that I want no part of—"

But he'd already done it. When Thor moved fast, his movements were almost invisible. Loki saw his hand go to his waist, where Mjollnir hung, then something glinted in the air. He heard the clang of metal as the beam beneath him was smashed through. Released, he fell freely, too surprised to scream yet—landing right in Thor's arms.

The force knocked him backward, and they sprawled together on the dirt floor, Loki on top of him in an awkward position their Father would've disapproved of.

Thor grinned up at him. "That was much better," he said, reaching one hand up to catch Mjollnir as it returned. "You didn't scream that time."

"You lummox!" Loki was breathless, and not just from the impact of the fall. Being on top of Thor, feeling his body against his own, made his hands shake and his heart accelerate. He had thought that his feelings for Thor—these thoughts he had now and again that would've put his family to shame—would fade with time. But that hadn't happened. If anything, it had gotten worse in the few months since Algrim's death—or better, depending on one's stand-point. "What would you have done if you'd missed?"

Thor was looking up at him with dark blue eyes; Loki wondered if their color had intensified since their encounter with Surtur, since their trip to find the Sword.

Though everyone knew that Thor and Loki had snuck off in search of the Sword, and that Algrim had turned on the Allfather and perished, no one but Thor and Loki and Odin and Frigga knew that it was by Loki's hand that Algrim's demise had been made a reality. He had been stabbed by Gungir, through the shoulder, and Thor had been ready to spare him. And by Loki's own hand, the Sword of Surtur had put an end to him.

The enormity of it still shocked Loki, and, he suspected, Thor as well. They had agreed never to tell anyone but their family that it had been Loki who ended Algrim's life. Not even the Warriors Three and Sif knew. It was their family secret, and it would go down with them.

Thor reached up and pushed a lock of Loki's dark hair back from his face. "I would never miss," he promised. "Not when it comes to you. And don't worry; you're doing fine. You'll get there. You should've seen Fandral when he first started learning flips. He kicked himself in the head and knocked himself out. Had to spend three days in the healing chambers. All the maidens laughed at him for days."

"Sure," Loki said. "But he was probably a child." He eyed Thor. "I suppose _you've_ always been a master at this stuff, brother."

"As _you've_ always been a master of magic," Thor countered. "Our talents lie in different areas, Loki, but never doubt that we are equals, in every way."

Thor stroked Loki's cheek with the tip of his fingers; lightly, but enough to make him shiver. There was nothing brotherly about the touch—it was very affectionate, closer to how the warriors touched their maidens when they returned from battle.

Loki smiled a little. "Thanks."

"I would not say it if it were not the truth. I have never been a talented liar, and you would see right through me."

He allowed himself to laugh loudly. "This is true. So, are we finished with training?"

"We're finished with the part of the training that's necessary to defeat Surtur tomorrow. However, if you're willing..."

Thor reached up to yank him down, but at that moment the doors to the training ring banged open, and a very angry dwarf stormed into the ring, his boots clicking on the pieces of stone.

Catching sight of Thor and Loki sprawled on the ground, the dwarf raised his eyebrows. "The sons of Odin? Ah, canoodling, I see. Well, I suppose I always suspected with you two. Too close to be anything other than together, I always said. No one believed me when I said that Odin's sons had an obvious thing for each other. They all laughed at me. And just look what I find!"

"Who in Hel are you and what are you doing here?!" Thor didn't move, just turned his head and glared in the dwarf's direction.

Loki, on the other hand, scrambled to his feet, straightening his crumpled clothes. He tried to form a spell, but his words wouldn't come to him.

"The name's Ivald, boys. And Kona Lifandi is free space since the Valkyries fled." The dwarf was already pulling off his boots and laying them in the corner. "Doesn't surprise me, really. They claim that they despise Odin, but they really don't." He wiggled his toes in their direction, and Loki groaned in obvious disgust.

"The Valkyries can pretend whatever they want," Thor said. "That doesn't answer what you're doing here."

Ivald made a face at him. "I don't have to answer to you. You aren't King of Asgard, and even if you were, Odinson, I am not of Asgard. Your commands do not stretch to me. Anyway, I'd heard you and your brother had vanished. Surtur's controlling your home. Bad timing." He turned his red eyes to Loki. "You and my sons have met, little one. I believe you ordered something from them a long time ago—golden hair, right?"

Loki's heart turned still as a stone. "How do you know about that?"

"My sons tell me everything." Ivald's smile was as terrible as Surtur's. "Don't worry. I'm not here to punish you. From what I hear, my sons did that already."

"Yes," Thor said, sitting up. "And Loki has repented enough. What does that have to do with your arrival here?"

"Does everything have to do with my arrival? I saw a free place to spend some time, I came, I plan on leaving post-haste. However, I wanted to see if the sons of Odin were here. And lo, I find them in each other's arms. How very interesting."

Thor pushed a lock of his hair behind his ear, staring at Ivald angrily. Loki knew that Thor would've slain him were he any other dwarf, but Ivald was older than most. In fact, he was nearly as old as Odin himself. At one time, Ivald and Odin had been close. Thor and Loki were unsure if they still were, and neither of them had ever bothered to ask, as it had never come up. Yet it seemed all too strange, to have Ivald suddenly show up out of nowhere when they were training, right as they were—

"I'm going to bathe," Loki announced, and headed for the exit door.

He followed the winding paths that led to the bathing pools the Valkyries used. It wasn't too far off from the training arena. The water was warm and clear, and there were stones surrounding it on all sides. Trees of emerald green reached up and blocked the night sky. Loki found himself amazed that Kona Lifandi hadn't been touched by Surtur or his damnable Muspellheim, and he hoped it would remain this way.

He bathed quickly and changed into a new set of clothes—a dark green tunic with a pair of loose black pants. Looking at himself in the pool's reflection, he saw that there was a hole in the arm of the tunic, and his dark brown hair was tangled. He combed it out with his fingers. He always tried, in Asgard, to maintain a put-together appearance; unlike Thor, who preferred to keep his hair a mess.

By the time he came back to the training arena, Ivald and Thor were deep in conversation. Thor sat on the top of the lowest bar, Mjollnir bouncing lazily in his hand.

"You say Asgard is still standing?" Thor demanded. "That Mother and the Warriors Three and Sif and the survivors—they are still unharmed?"

Ivald shrugged his fat shoulders. "Surtur has no interest in them. They cannot harm him. Frigga, if I may say so, might stand a chance, but she's so distraught about the disappearance of her sons that she doesn't dare attempt it."

"Then," Loki said, announcing his presence, "we should return to Asgard immediately."

Thor nodded.

"I would not head in so quickly. Not at night. Wait for the sunrise." Ivald glanced at them both. "Or whatever passes for sunrise now."

"We were planning to anyway," Loki answered. "Better to attack Surtur when he's not expecting it, and tomorrow is as good a time as any."

"Right." Ivald made a huge production of yawning just then. "Well, I best be hitting the road. Lots of trips to make before returning home. Farewell and good luck, Odinsons. Oh, and better keep it on the down-low around your father. Odin Allfather may be a fan of many things, but incest is not one of them." Ivald's eyes glittered as if he knew something they did not. "Of course...when it's _you two_...it may not be such an issue."

"What do you mean?" Thor demanded, but Ivald had already vanished, leaving a haze of smoke in his wake.

Thor grunted, annoyed, and looked over at Loki. He was already starting to strip out of his tunic, but stopped when he met Loki's eye. "We should probably get some rest, brother," he said, and he made an effort not to look Loki in the eye.

Loki nodded and glanced at the ground, too. "You're right."

Kona Lifandi was quiet now that the Valkyries were not present. Loki still didn't feel safe there—he sometimes wondered if there were women waiting in the shadows to attack him and his brother the second they let their guard down. Thankfully, their training in Jotunheim had made them watch their backs, and each others, now more than ever.

"I'm sorry," Loki announced suddenly. "About what happened in the training ground—that was...I am sorry, brother."

"Don't be sorry." There was a ragged edge to Thor's voice that surprised him. "So, you're thinking about what Ivald said too, right? ' _When it's you two, it may not be an issue_ '. What do you suppose he meant by that, Loki? He can't mean that we aren't related, right? That's the only way these feelings of ours could be allowed."

"Thor," Loki said, a little bewildered by the way he said _these feelings of ours_ , "are you all right?"

Instead of answering him, Thor pulled Loki hard against him. His body pressed Loki's against the wall of the sleeping quarters, the metal of the walls cold against Loki's back. Loki always liked the way Thor held him whenever they were granted time to themselves—gentle, so unlike how he was with the others. He liked how he never felt that Thor had all the control. They were both lost in the moment, so much so that they forgot for a moment that this wasn't right. That they couldn't ever be together. That they were brothers—

They suddenly drew away from each other as the thought struck them.

Brothers.

They were _brothers_.

And with brothers, these kinds of feelings weren't allowed.

"If we go home," Loki whispered, "and we stop Surtur, then this stops, too. It began in Jotunheim and continued in Kona Lifandi, but it ends in Asgard."

Thor said nothing. Loki could feel the tension in him, could see it, and he felt it in himself. If they went home and saved it, if Odin awoke from the Odinsleep, this would end. They could never be together again. Not like this. They would be brothers once more, just that, and these would be distant, hidden memories they could share with no one. The price of incest was banishment, if Odin was merciful. Death was more common. Even if they were his own sons, it would not matter. That would end too, if he ever learned the truth.

"Thor," Loki said, and it was more of a gasp than anything else.

He let go of Loki then, suddenly, and stepped back. His face was pale, his eyes hard as ice. "I know," he said. "We have to save Asgard, Loki. I know that. And I know that if we return home, we forfeit this—whatever this is that began in Jotunheim. Whatever we've—"

He broke off then, but Loki already knew what he was going to say. These feelings hadn't always been in Jotunheim. They'd existed long before then. It explained all of Loki's jealousy, why he cut off Sif's hair, why Thor insisted on keeping Amora away from him, why Thor threatened any and all warriors who attempted to woo his brother.

Thor stepped back from him then, before Loki could say anything. "We should go to sleep," he said in a low voice. "We'll think clearer in the morning. We have to save Asgard."

There were a thousand things Loki wanted to say, but the words wouldn't form. He wasn't sure what he could say. Tomorrow it would all end where it began, and then where would they be?

Without warning, Thor said, "I love you." He wasn't looking at him, just at the floor. "More than I've ever—" He broke off for a second, catching his breath. Loki was surprised; it wasn't like Thor to be this nervous. "More than I should. I love you, Loki. Whether Father and the Nine Realms agree with it or not, I do."

And then he turned and fled down the hall, to his own stolen quarters for the evening, leaving Loki in front of his own door, with his own thoughts.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

The rooms in Kona Lifandi were quiet. Thor imagined they weren't always this way. There were at least ten beds in every room, and Thor often found himself picturing the Valkyries—talking about their hatred of men, joking with their partners, sharing stories about why they were here, speaking of their training, and other such things.

When they arrived in Kona Lifandi two days ago, Thor had immediately taken to leaving the large window open; it allowed the sounds of the Nine Realms to filter through, the light from the moon.

Loki was in another room entirely. Thor had insisted upon it. They'd shared a bedchamber in the castle of Thrym, and Thor would've shared this one with Loki, but he determined that they both needed their own space to train and practice as they pleased. Loki hadn't objected, and seemed to agree with it whole-heartedly.

It also granted Thor time to think about his course of action, what they would do when they faced Surtur down, and most importantly, his feelings for his brother.

A knock on his door startled him out of his thoughts; he got to his feet and answered it, suddenly not certain if it were Loki or another dwarf.

Of course, it was Loki.

He wasn't dressed the way he normally was. He had a light green tunic on and no pants. The tunic was short enough that it exposed the curve of his thighs, at least part of the way. It was half-open across his chest, revealing the pale white skin of his throat and collar. His dark hair was brushed haphazardly, falling around his face in spikes. He raised his left eyebrow when he saw Thor gawking at him. "Are you going to quit staring at me and invite me in, or are you content to stand there all night?"

Taking Loki by the arm, Thor pulled him inside and closed the door. Leaning against it, he said, "I thought you were sleeping."

"I thought you were." Loki sat down on the edge of one of the beds. His tunic rode up as he leaned back on his hands, showing more of his legs. It wasn't doing wonders for Thor's concentration on his feelings for his little brother. "Look, Thor. I thought about earlier, and before we go galloping in to save Asgard tomorrow, we need to talk."

"Must we?" It came out almost as a groan. Loki knew Thor wasn't good with words, and talking was the last thing he wanted to do—especially with Loki looking like that.

"Well, if you don't want to, we can postpone it until after we defeat Surtur." Loki's eyes shimmered a brilliant emerald. "I just wanted to let you know, Thor...that I don't care. Whatever Father or Mother or anyone in the Nine Realms thinks, I love you too. As my brother, as my friend..." Loki's gaze locked with Thor's stunned one, and he said in a low voice, "And especially as my lover, may the thoughts of the Nine Realms be damned."

Thor reached for him and drew him in, and kissed him. There were just some things you had to do, even if they were morally a bad idea.

Loki curled up against him like fabric. Thor put his hands in Loki's hair and ran his fingers through it, amazed to find not a single tangle or knot in it. He remembered wanting to do this when he and Loki were in Jotunheim, but they'd kept their feelings silent, in case the Frost Giants saw them and threw them to the snow. At first Thor had dismissed the idea as insane. Loki was his brother, after all—there was no right in wanting him.

But then Thor realized that it didn't matter. Brothers or not, he could work with it. So what if all the Nine Realms damned them for their feelings? They couldn't help how they felt!

Thor had learned that there were worse things than death, than knowing that Loki would one day belong to someone else. Loving him the way Thor did was cosmically wrong. He knew that if they defeated Surtur, they could never be together like this again. This would be the last of it. Their love and feelings and desires would have to vanish.

It had not made him want Loki any less; just made wanting him into a torture.

They sprawled onto the bed together. Thor's heart was hammering against the inside of his ribs; they had never been in bed like this before, not really. They'd slept side-by-side or cuddled up in their own beds when they were young, and in Jotunheim, but never like this.

"I love you," Loki said. He was tracing the light burn mark on Thor's wrist, left from the armor of Surtur. There were scars from training with the Frost Giants there, and Loki's fingers traced them too. "I don't want to lose you."

Thor slid his hand down and pressed it against Loki's bare throat; he loved the pulsing of the heart beat he felt there. His other hand, braced against the mattress, kept him hovering above Loki. "I won't ever let that happen," he promised.

Loki looked up at him with luminous eyes. "How can you be sure? When we return to Asgard—"

Thor shook his head. He didn't want to think of that now. The moonlight that spilled through the open window lit up Loki's skin to a brilliant white—like snow. "We'll deal with that when we come to it," he said. "For tonight, it's just us." And then he returned to his brother, all thoughts of what tomorrow might bring forgotten.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

Thor pushed open the doors that led to the pegasus stables, and was greeted by a rush of cool air. He didn't shiver, and was thankful for the armor the Frost Giants had crafted. He stepped into the stables and shut the door behind him.

The stables were a lot smaller than those in Asgard, fairly simple. There were torches lit here and there, but they did little to warm the air—yet Loki didn't seem to mind. He was standing near one of the pegasi, saddling it up.

Thor wanted to rush over to him, but he couldn't help hesitating. Loki was wearing his armor, dark green and gold over his lithe figure, and his head was turned to the side, away from him. Thor had never really paid attention to his armor before now, and he thought that it made him look grown up and remote. The wind from the rivers ruffled his hair under the horned helmet, and Thor met the sight of a pale white scar behind his ear, the remnants of a particular training day with Amora that had ended badly.

"Loki," he said.

He turned and looked at Thor and grinned. The smile was familiar and seemed to unlock the tense atmosphere. Thor marched over to him and patted his shoulder.

"Good morning, brother." He tried not to let the excitement creep into his voice. "I did not know you were awake."

"Preparing the pegasi." Loki gestured his hand to another pegasus, already saddled and ready to take off. "You know how much easier it is to leave in a hurry when we don't have to waste time. I know how incompetent you are when it comes to saddling horses." He laughed, meaning it as a jest. "I really didn't want to get out of bed, especially not after last night, but I remembered what you said, and you're right. We have to save Asgard."

Thor nodded, understanding. He and Loki had been together last night, but not fully. They still hadn't been together, in the sense of the phrase that Fandral would've meant. They'd simply embraced and kissed and talked and spent time together. There was nothing more than that, out of fear that if they were fully together, they could never return.

"If we defeat Surtur," Loki asked suddenly, "what do you think will happen? Will Asgard revert to the way it was, or will we have to rebuild?"

"I do not know," Thor said honestly. He patted Mjollnir, which bounced at his hip. "No matter what, if the time comes to it, you are a powerful sorcerer, and Mjollnir is a weapon to destroy and a tool to build. If we must, we will rebuild Asgard, piece by piece."

Loki looked up and stared at him, his dark emerald eyes searching Thor's soul. Thor wondered if what he'd said had hurt Loki's feelings—but how could it have?

"We can rebuild Asgard physically," Loki said after a moment. "But we can never change it. Even if you will one day become King, there are Laws. Asgard will never change, brother. Yet even if it cannot change, I can, and even if we cannot be together, I will strive to be the type of person that Asgard will want. That _you_ will want."

"You're already what I want, Loki. You always have been," Thor said. He felt as if he were talking to a statue. It was as if Loki wasn't capable of hearing him, of understanding. "I know you feel that we might fail. For now, we can't keep worrying. You can't let your fears for my safety cloud your judgment, Loki."

"There might be a way for me to—" Loki raised his gaze to Thor's. "Come here."

Surprised, Thor stepped forward. Loki took his wrist and turned it over, revealing the vulnerable skin of his forearm. He shivered, the cool wind ruffling his hair back. "Loki, what is it? What are you planning?"

"In Jotunheim, there was a spell that I learned...a powerful one." He looked up at Thor, his eyes wide and pleading. "I want to try it, Thor, but I do not know how it will react to an Asgardian. It is not permanent, and it will keep you protected from death; at least, that's what I've heard it does. I have never seen nor heard about it until Jotunheim."

Thor hesitated. A rune, one from Jotunheim—he wasn't sure if that was the best option. But this seemed to be what Loki wanted to do.

"What does it do?" he asked.

The tension in Loki's body seemed to vanish. He said, "It is a powerful, ancient rune. Once it goes on you, anyone who attacks you with intent to slay shall be beaten down tenfold. Those who strike it directly shall perish. Granted, you are not invulnerable, and you can be harmed, but should you be attacked on the rune, and your attacker has intent to kill you, it will destroy them." He looked up and smiled at Thor. "And Surtur _really_ wants to kill you."

Silently, Thor took in what Loki told him. He didn't need to listen to anymore. He knew what Loki was planning. He gave his consent with a nod.

"Take off your armor," Loki commanded. "Just the top part."

Thor did as he commanded. Then Loki raised his index finger, glowing with a black light, to his right forearm and began tracing a pattern lightly; when Thor didn't protest, he applied more force. As cold as he was now without his armor, the burn of the rune was almost welcome. Thor watched as coiled lines were drawn on his forearm, up the right side of his body, down the side of his torso, and finally up his neck, ending at his cheek directly beneath his eye.

"There," Loki said, stepping back. "I think that should do it."

"Excellent." Thor dressed himself back in his armor, feeling the numbing warmth of the rune under his skin, like nerves waking up. "Now, we have a Fire Giant to stop, right?"

Loki smiled darkly, thoughts of mischief and death on his mind. Without a word, he mounted the Pegasus meant for him. Thor mounted his own steed, and with a yell, the two brothers left the home of the Valkyries and sped toward their own home.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

"We're here," Loki said.

They had landed in the middle of the palace courtyard, and were looking up at the doors of the great throne room. It hadn't been changed as much as the rest of Asgard had. The windows were made of stained glass, but the images were altered to tell histories of Muspellheim. The walls, tall and white, were made of marble. Cracks were present, but they were fixable. At the moment, all was quiet.

Loki looked over at Thor. He seemed to be getting use to summoning lightning by now.

When they first arrived in Asgard, on the outskirts, they alerted Surtur to their presence by calling on lighting and sunshine, rain and snow. Thor handled the former; Loki, the latter. Together, they wreaked havoc on the new Muspellheim, beating down the drought and the intense heat until all was relatively cool.

Thor was looking up at the throne room doors with a fierce expression, his face aglow with a look of determination. The blackness of the rune stood out even from the shadow of his helmet.

"Let's go," he said, and he kicked the door open. Then he vanished into the darkness, leaving Loki to follow him with the same determined look.

They stood in the massive domed throne room. There were no lights or torches, yet the warmth of the morning sky served them well enough. Everything was tainted with bloody crimson.

Thor and Loki stood close together, Thor holding Mjolnir high and Loki whispering Words of Power, causing his hands to flare up with green flames.

The inside looked much the same. Except the tile floor had been defaced, splattered with some sort of dark red liquid that had been used to paint a rough circle, set deep inside another circle. It seemed to Loki that it was a summoning circle, or some other form of magic. He wasn't familiar with it, but he knew enough. The runes painting around it were sinister and wrong, foreign and backward.

In the very center of the circle was a dais made of black stone. On top of the dais rested a large object covered with black cloth. More runes were scribbled around the base of the dais.

"So," said a booming voice, "you survived."

It was a monster's voice, cultured, strong, and...familiar.

Thor turned, already knowing who it was. Standing on the throne's altar was Surtur. He was still a giant horned beast, sharp red eyes flaring with amusement. He was very bulky, tail swishing like a whip to and fro.

"I must say, I'm impressed. None have ever escaped the cold grip of Jotunheim. Tell me, what is your secret?"

"Hatred," Thor said. "Keeps the body warm."

"You gave me quite a fright there, Odinsons." Surtur said, and now his voice was coming from the opposite direction. Thor spun, and saw that he was standing beside the marble dais, in the center of the circle. The ruby clouds were blowing across the sky; outside, thunder crackled, and rain fell. It made Surtur's lips curl back. "I thought for sure Jotunheim would've slain you. The sons of their most hated enemy? Yet here you are. You've even managed to acquire some new armor. Very impressive, indeed."

"Beasts are always impressed by something," Loki snapped.

Surtur ignored the obvious insult. "I should've killed you both when I had the chance. I was sure, if nothing else, you would join me. But I suppose family bonds run deeper than the desire for power, children." He raised his slanted eyes to Thor's cheek. "Oh. I see. Where did you get that? As one who is as old as Odin Allfather, I know that rune well. Who placed it on you?"

"Loki," Thor said.

" _Him?_ " Surtur looked at Loki with genuine surprise. "Well I'll be slain. And here I was second-guessing myself when I called him the most powerful sorcerer in the Nine Realms. Don't you know that even Odin Allfather cannot create that rune?"

"Father can't?" Loki shook his head. "You must be joking. You can't expect me to believe that."

"Believe it or do not believe it," Surtur said. "It makes no difference to me. I am older than you, and I was a powerful force when you were mere thoughts. I knew the Nine Realms before Odin Borson did, and I knew their secrets long after. My kind were regarded as beasts and monsters in all the legends, and you, children, will forever be regarded as heroes because you are Asgardian."

At that, Loki, who had not felt cold in days, shivered. The tone Surtur used to describe them, the low hiss of breath through his serrated teeth, chilled him to the marrow.

"That rune presents me with a conundrum," Surtur continued. "Yet there are ways around it. It is not my intention to kill you, Odinsons." A vicious smirk stretched across his face. "Not yet."

He moved his claws slightly, almost negligently, the gesture of someone moving to part a curtain in their way. The black cloth covering the object on the dais vanished.

Thor and Loki stared at what was revealed. It was a massive box constructed of plated glass, just long enough and wide enough for a massive Asgardian or a small Frost Giant to lie down in. In the box was a smoky haze, and hovering in that haze—garbed in black and silver fabric, his white hair drifting around his face like pale leaves—was Odin.

"That's..." Thor murmured, his voice sounding dumb to his own ears. "That's Father..."

Surtur rested his palm on the glass surface. "They say Odin Borson can hear and see all that goes on around him when he is in the Odinsleep." His voice had an odd, softly quality, as if Surtur were speaking to an infant. "I hope it's true. That way he will know that Asgard fell at the hands of the Mighty Surtur."

Loki briefly wondered what would happen if he and Thor made a run for it—dashed for the window and leaped out. He wondered if they would recover from that. The rune he marked Thor with was his only protection from harm caused by another—but jumping out a window was voluntary. What if they didn't survive?

Surtur seemed to sense his thoughts, because he grinned with a look as icy as Jotunheim. "If you are contemplating running, little Loki, I advise against it. True, I cannot hurt your brother, but is that really all I can do to hurt you? I cannot lift a hand against him. And if I raise a hand against you, your brother will attack me without end and I shall be defenseless. I am not a fool, to bargain with power I know nothing of. I am a jotunn, but a very old one. I know your kind perhaps better than you do. I understand you Asgardians perfectly: your pride, your arrogance, your foolish lust for power, the desire of the flesh, the weakness of love and the greed it entails."

Loki set his jaw. "What nonsense are you spouting?"

"You do not understand. I speak no nonsense. Let me show you." Then Surtur lifted his head up, and his eyes flashed.

Loki felt something heavy clasp around his throat, tight like a chain. Then the iron weight shifted to his waist, and something sharp pricked the edge of his neck. He drew in a sharp gasp—the edge of the dagger nicked his flesh and freed two drops of ruby blood. He stood very still in the circle of strong arms around him, and thought for a moment that it would've been a romantic picture if not for the blade at his neck. "Thor," he choked, careful not to move his throat too much for fear that the knife would cut him again.

There was no expression on Thor's face as he stared down at Loki now. His eyes were empty, seas of blue with nothing inside. Very slightly, he inclined his head to Surtur.

"You," Loki said to Surtur through his teeth. "What have you done to my brother?"

"The sorcerer speaks." The dark look on Surtur's face grew grimmer. "What if I haven't done anything to him, little Loki? What if this is what he always has been?"

Loki shouted, "What do you know of Thor? What do you know of what he has always been? Thor won't hurt me."

Surtur's burning eyes turned to Thor. "Cut him," he said. "Just enough."

Loki felt Thor's shoulders tense. He felt something at his throat, like a sting, cold and hot all at once, and felt another warm trickle of liquid spill down onto his collarbone. His eyes widened. Thor had actually done it. He had cut him. Loki had never believed that Thor could hurt him. Even if one day they ended up hating each other for whatever reason, Thor would never hurt him. He looked at his chest. The blood on his leather armor didn't seem real in his eyes. It looked like scarlet paint.

"You see now," Surtur said. "He does what I tell him to. Don't blame him for it. He does whatever I command. For months I have been creeping in his mind, driving a wedge between you two. But I never would've guessed his true desires. He craves you, Loki, perhaps more than you desire him. I am surprised you manage to stay in each other's company for so long without difficulty."

Then Surtur turned away from them. "You do not understand. I will slay Odin Borson and take over this pathetic world. And you, you will watch. Perhaps then you will feel differently about all this. Thor, hold him."

And then he wasn't paying attention to them anymore. The fire jotunn was looking down at Odin with a sick smirk on his face.

Loki felt Thor behind him, his arms still tight around him, the beat of his heart through the armor he wore. Loki remembered the way they'd embraced after Algrim's death, the way they'd kissed in Kona Lifandi. He remembered everything with such detail, he knew it was impossible for Thor to have forgotten it.

He _had_ to be in there somewhere. Like Odin in his coffin. Thor had to still be in there somewhere.

Surtur was hovering above the glass box, his attention fixed on Odin. Thor and Loke might as well not have been there at all.

"Thor," Loki whispered. "Thor, I don't want to watch this anymore."

He pressed his back against Thor's chest, as if trying to curl up in his arms, then pretended as if the brush of the knife had cut him again.

"Thor," he murmured, "you don't need the blade. You know I can't hurt you. Remember?"

He felt Thor's chest rumble. "What—"

"Please." Loki put all his effort into making his voice sound broken, desperate. "Brother I want to look at you. I don't want to watch him slay Father. I don't want to watch this anymore." Then in the softest murmur he could manage, he begged, "Please...?"

He felt Thor's chest rise and fall once, fast. A shudder went through him as if he were fighting with some unseen force. Then he moved so swiftly he might as well not have moved at all. He kept his arms tight around Loki's waist—both of them now—and spun him around. Loki felt Thor's fingers trail over his back, down his arms as he turned him. Then suddenly he wasn't facing Surtur and the glass box that held their father anymore, though he could still feel their presence. He looked up at Thor. His face was so familiar. The light scars from sparring matches and battles, the dark spots from where the sun had touched him, the blackness of the rune he'd placed upon him only hours ago. His eyes were the color of the sky, and Loki knew that to be wrong. It was like looking through a frosty window into an empty room. He still looked like Thor, but that was one thing that was too different about him now.

"Thor," he said, and he dipped his voice low enough to sound pitiful, "I'm afraid."

Thor stroked his shoulder, sending sparks through his nerves; Loki realized with a sense of terror that he still responded to Thor's touch no matter what had become of him.

"I won't let anything harm you," Thor promised.

Loki stared up at him. You truly believe that, brother. Somehow you can't see that Surtur means to kill us both once he slays Father. "You won't be able to stop him, brother. He's going to kill us." He realized that this statement had no affect on Thor, so he whispered, "He's going to kill _me_."

Thor reacted. His eyes widened slightly, and he shook his head. "No. No, Surtur wouldn't do that to—He said he would—he promised—"

Loki shivered. The realization that Surtur had been filtering his influence through Thor since Algrim's death made him physically sick. He wondered when Surtur had clicked control on him; it had to have been when he revealed Odin to them. All the other times they'd been together—that was all Thor, right?

At his shudder, Thor's expression softened, darkened by the shadow of his helmet. "Are you cold, Loki?"

His voice sounded concerned, so much like himself that Loki nearly tricked himself into thinking that he'd broken free of Surtur's control.

"Cold," he agreed, nodding, though physical cold was the farthest thing from his mind. "It's very cold, brother."

Thor took Loki's arms and guided them to his waist—Loki, taking the hint, slipped his arms around Thor's waist and pressed up close to him. It felt wrong...yet at the same time it was all he wanted.

For a moment, Loki wondered what would happen if they didn't save Asgard. Incest wasn't such a bad thing in the eyes of the Fire Giants. If Surtur ruled—if they submitted to him—they could be with one another.

Loki kept his eyes on Thor's face. _No_ , he thought. _I can't surrender the lives of hundreds of people for my own happiness. Even if Thor and I can never be together like that—we have to save our home_.

"Do you remember what you said to me in Kona Lifandi?" he whispered.

Thor looked down at him, confused. "What?"

"When we went to our rooms. I remember what you told me, brother. You said that you loved me, whether Father and the Nine Realms agree with it or not."

His eyes flickered with light. "Loki," he said, "I don't—"

"And I told you that I loved you, too." _Be careful_ , he warned himself, but he couldn't stop the strain that leaked into his voice, the desperation that rose. It was so different for him. "You remember. I said that I loved you, that I wanted you for whatever you would have me as. As my brother, as my friend, as my consort if that was what you chose."

Thor stared at him as if he wasn't understanding what he was saying. Loki felt as if he were yelling into the abyss beneath the Bifrost, and his own voice was lost.

"There's a way you can protect me and still stay loyal to Surtur," Loki lied. "Isn't that what you want to happen, brother?"

He pressed his body closer to Thor's, feeling his stomach twist. It was like embracing a statue of his brother, a warm statue that was looking like him as he didn't comprehend what was happening to him. And Loki could feel his body react to his touch, to the flutter of his heart through their armor, to the desperation in his voice. Thor had not stopped wanting him. Loki felt a wave of relief that at least it didn't seem that Thor's affection for him was just a product of Surtur's control.

"I'll tell you, brother mine," Loki murmured, brushing his lips against Thor's throat. He felt Thor tense at his kiss. "Let me tell it to you, brother."

He tilted his face up, and Thor leaned down to hear him—and Loki's hand moved up from Thor's waist to strike him across the face with the heel of his palm, concentrating all his strength into the strike.

Thor cried out—more in surprise than pain—and stumbled back. He reached his hand up to his cheek; when he took it away, he stared at his palm, then up at Loki, his eyes wide as if he were genuinely hurt, genuinely shocked by his betrayal.

Loki spun around as Surtur glanced up to look at what the source of the noise was—and with a vicious curse, Loki shouted a Word of Power and fired a blazing ball of green fire at Surtur's hand, knocking aside the blade he'd conjured to slay the Allfather with. It seemed to Loki that he'd been too busy gloating over his apparent victory to notice what had happened, to slay the Allfather while he had the chance.

"Thor," Surtur shouted, his voice soaring with astonishment. "Thor, get a hold of him—I command you to—"

Thor didn't move. He stared at Surtur, to Loki, at his hand, then back again.

Surtur screeched; not words, but a high pitched scream that rattled off the ceiling. It wasn't a noise any nexus creature could've made. It was a sound of unadulterated rage and hatred. "Thor," he said in a low voice, "kill him."

Thor looked at Loki blindly, as if he'd never seen him before, then down at Mjollnir. He lifted his gaze to Surtur, then bent to pick his dagger—which he'd dropped when Loki hit him—up off the floor.

" _Thor_." Surtur's voice came from the shadows, sharp as a knife; Loki flinched at the sound of it. "I am your king, and I command you to—"

Thor drew his arm back—Loki tensed, bracing himself—and he hurled the dagger at Surtur. It whipped through the air, end over end, and sank into his crimson chest; he staggered back with a loud cry, caught off balance. The talons on his feet skidded on the flat tiles; the jotunn righted his large form with a feral growl, reaching down to pluck the dagger from his ribs. Spitting in a sharp language Loki didn't recognize, Surtur wrenched the dagger from his chest and let it drop. It fell hissing to the ground, its blade burned away.

Surtur whirled on Loki. "What have you done, Odinson? What have you done?!" His eyes were all black a moment ago. Now they seemed to bulge and protrude with flames; Loki cried out and took a staggering step back, almost tripping over himself. This was the beast that had tormented him, a true monster.

Surtur advanced on him—

And suddenly Thor was between them, blocking Surtur's approach. Loki felt the relief flood him like rainwater. Thor was himself again.

He seemed to burn with a white aura, as Odin in glorious battle. He had Mjolnir in front of him; the silver-gray of the Hammer of the Worthy reflected in his eyes; blood dripped from the wound on his neck. The way he looked at Surtur—if they were able to head into battle with the Einherjar and face down the true enemies of Asgard, Loki imagined this is what they would look like, the rage in their eyes as bright as flames. " _Mjolnir_ ," Thor said, and Loki wasn't sure if it was the strength of the Hammer's name or the rage in Thor's voice, but the weapon he held blazed up brighter than a star.

It was so bright that Loki turned his gaze away for a moment and caught sight of the sky. Asgard was waiting for them. They had to win.

"The Hammer of the Worthy." Surtur's voice was rich with amusement as he stepped up. "I told you, child—just because you can wield it doesn't mean you know how to use it."

Thor raised Mjolnir; it blazed like a sun, so bright that Loki wondered if those in the kingdom were capable of seeing it, a beacon to signify their battle. "Don't take another step, Surtur, or I shall end you."

Surtur, to Loki's surprise, paused. "Odin Borson told me I was a monster when we first met," he said. "Why is it, little Odinson, that your kind treat those they do not understand with hatred and neglect? Why do you break that which will not look upon you as the gods you pretend to be? Why is that?"

"I had no idea you were such a supporter of free will and love," said Thor. His voice was thick with sarcasm, and it made Loki feel more reassured that his brother was back to his senses. "If you aren't a monster, as you say, then why not let my brother and I escort you out of Asgard? Put an end to all the fighting, the death? What do you say, jotunn? Face it, you've lost. You don't control me or my brother any longer. I won't hurt Loki, and we won't use our powers to help you rule our home."

Surtur's face twisted with rage. He spat at Thor, and his spit became a black flame that hit the tile at his feet. "I'm glad you seem to think that, Asgardian," he snarled. "I'm going to love proving you wrong."

"Then do it," Thor growled. "Prove me wrong. Pick up a weapon and fight me."

Surtur looked at him, his eyes billowing smoke. "I am the oldest of the Fire Giants," he said. "I am not an Asgardian. I have no pride for you to fool me with. I am not intimidated by things such as honor. That is entirely a weakness of your race and your race alone, not mine. I am a jotunn, and I will shake the World Tree itself to get what I desire." He stared at them with a glare of contempt; a wisp of smoke curled around his head like a live snake.

Thor raised Mjolnir just as Surtur laughed and raised his hand. Shadows exploded from his palms and landed on the floor.

They solidified into something strange, slender, and large. Twin figures with eyes the color of drops of blood. They hit the ground, pawing and growling. They were _wolves_ , Loki thought, wolves of Muspellheim.

"No," breathed Thor. "Loki—"

The wolves howled and launched themselves toward him, their mouths wide open, loud howls ripped from their throats. A moment later, one of them sprang away from Thor and threw itself at Loki.

Loki barely had time to put his arms up before the crushing weight of the fire wolf slammed into him, a solid rock of warmth and burning drool and snapping fangs. He forgot about the proper way to fall, striking the ground and scuffing up his elbow. The fire wolf growled inches from his nose, its paws crushing his chest, its tail swishing back and forth with an electric barb on the end. A low growl tore from its throat, strong enough to rumble through Loki's bones.

He refused to be intimidated. Anything could be a weapon. Loki reached down to the ground and felt for a loose stone. His hand closed around something sharp—something that cut him—and he swung it across the wolf's eyes, slashing it brutally across the face.

The wolf reared back, howling in pain, and Loki rolled onto his knees. Bloody-eyed, the wolf went to spring at him. Loki raised his hand to launch an emerald fire ball in its face; he opened his lips to shout the spell when the wolf screeched a baying howl and threw itself across the ground at his face.

A massive chunk of uru split the darkness, smashing down inches from Loki's nose, crushing the wolf's head into a soup of bone and blood and brain.

Hands came down, lifting Loki to his feet. It was Thor. He had smashed the skull of the wolf that had attacked him, and he held Loki by both his wrists. He stared at Loki with a strange look. Loki wouldn't have been able to decide which emotion Thor felt: shock, love, yearning, anger, terror, and hope all mixed together in his eyes. The leather parts of his armor were torn; his helmet was lopsided, but he was relatively unharmed. Surtur had not intended to kill him, to avoid invoking the wrath of the rune.

They stared at each other for a moment, forgetting Surtur and his loud bellows, and then Thor said in a low voice, "Go. Get out of here, Loki. Find the underground and alert the others."

Loki gaped at him. "Thor—"

Thor shot him a look that stilled Loki's breath. " _Please_ ," he said, then he let go of Loki's wrists and turned back toward Surtur, raising Mjolnir.

He didn't turn to watch Loki leave.

Instead, he bellowed "SURTUR!" and threw himself across the throne room at the demon.

Surtur whirled with an incredulous snarl. "Where is he?" His eyes darted around the room, burning as if there were nothing but smoke in them. "Where is the sorcerer?"

Thor glanced around the room for a moment. He didn't see Loki anywhere. His heart fluttered with relief; wherever Loki was, he was safe. He would find the underground and be safe. Surtur wasn't able to hurt him anymore. "He has nothing to do with this, Surtur," Thor said. "I was the one who took your sword. This is between you and me. You claim you're invincible; I claim you can't harm me as long as I have this rune. Let's see which of us walks out of this fight with their life still intact."

Surtur moved so fast, he was a blur. One moment he was beside Odin's glass box, the next he was directly in front of Thor. He slashed out at Thor with his claws; Thor ducked, spinning behind him, whipping Mjolnir across his back like a whip.

He bellowed, whirling, blood arcing from his wound. It was black, like a stone. He brought his claws together as if he intended to smash Mjolnir; they met with a sound like a thunderclap, but Thor was already across the room, twirling Mjollnir and forming lightning in the storm. The air was tense around him.

With a snarl, Surtur threw himself at him. They were all around the throne room, striking at each other, Surtur disappearing and reappearing somewhere else only to have Thor knock him back with Mjolnir.

Finally it happened. Thor threw Mjolnir violently at Surtur—and he batted it aside, shattering his hand in the process. Blood dripped down his forearms and hands like streaks of mud.

"Father told me of you," Thor said through his teeth. "The pathetic Fire Giant who couldn't defeat an enemy a third of your size. You were cursed to vanish, to walk the realms without ever finding happiness. Isn't that right?"

Surtur's expression darkened murderously. "Be careful, Asgardian."

"Or what? You'll kill me?" Thor raised his head and brandished the rune as if it were a scar. "Then do it."

But Surtur didn't. He didn't move, and then Thor's eyes flashed with lightning. "You can't," he said with a victorious laugh. "Loki's rune protects me from you. If you attempt to slay me, you'll perish, and then this whole endeavor is all for naught. Face it, demon! You've lost!"

For the first time, Surtur truly looked at a loss for words. His head whipped from side to side, the smoke from his eyes quivering as if searching. "Where is he? Where is Loki?"

Thor wiped a drop of sweat from his forehead and grinned at him; his lip was split from where he'd struck the ground when the wolf threw itself at him, and blood ran down his chin. "I sent him away, Surtur, when you weren't paying attention. He's gone—far away from you. He's safe."

Surtur growled. "Liar. You forget. I was there, in your mind. And I watched as you laid together in Kona Lifandi. I watched as you kissed him, watched as you made him pant and writhe like a whore beneath you. I witnessed you two—laying together but never physically joining in any other manner than a few choice touches and heated kisses—thinking that you could be together, when you know very well that you are joined by blood. Thinking that the love two people share for one another would allow them to be together without consequences. Fools." He spat another ball of black fire. "You love each other—more than you should. That kind of love can burn all of the Nine Realms and rebuild them. No, Loki would never leave your side. Brother or not, he desires you as you desire him. He would never leave you. Not while he believed you were in danger. Even he is not certain that rune will work."

Surtur's head jerked back, his gaze darting across the room. His fingers curled into claws, bright with red smoke.

"THERE YOU ARE!"

There was a yelp, and one of the stone benches seemed to shatter, revealing Loki, who had been crouching and hiding behind it.

Kicking and clawing at the air, Loki was dragged forward, his fingers scraping the tile, seizing for a purchase that did not exist. His hands left bloody trails on the stones by the throne.

" _NO!_ " Thor started forward, then froze as Loki was whipped up into the air, hovering in front of Surtur.

His armor had protected him from most of the attack, but the cloth and leather bits were so torn up that they appeared black rather than brown. His dark green cape—torn to shreds—swirled around him, hanging off one of his shoulders. His helmet had been knocked off, lying on the tile somewhere; his dark hair was tousled and matted against his head where he'd struck the tile and bled a little. His green eyes fixed on Surtur with burning hatred. "You fucking son of a _bitch_ ," he said with a vicious growl.

Thor's face was a mask of horror. He'd truly believed that Loki had gone to the underground when he'd told him to. He'd thought Loki was _safe_.

But Surtur had been right. And he was gloating now, his fiery eyes dancing as he moved his hand like a magician, and Loki gasped as if something had wrapped around his throat and cut off his breath.

Surtur flicked his claws, and what appeared like a tongue of fire came down across Loki's body, slicing the leather part of the armor by his collar wide open, and the skin beneath it. Loki yelled in agony and clutched at the wound; his blood rained down on the throne room tiles like droplets of scarlet rain.

" _Loki_." Thor whirled on Surtur. "All right," he said. He was pale, his courage gone, his honor gone as well. "All right, Surtur." He clenched his hands into fists, his knuckles snow white. "All right. I'll do whatever you want. We'll—we'll do whatever you want. You can have it. Asgard. The Nine Realms if you want. Just let him go, and we'll let you—"

" _Let me?!_ " The laughter in Surtur's voice boomed around them. "You have no choice. And what is this, Thor Odinson? You would risk all of Asgard for one simple being? For someone you can not ever _be_ with?!"

Thor's eyes gleamed with hatred, with terror, but he said nothing.

"Perhaps I cannot kill _you_ , Odinson," Surtur said, "due to that mark. But that does not stretch to your brother, does it? I can torture him beyond his endurance—torture him to madness—and you can watch. There are worse things than death, Mighty Thor, and now you will learn what happens when you anger Surtur."

He flicked his wrist again, and the flaming whip came down again, slashing across Loki's neck this time, opening a wide but shallow cut. Then he snapped, and the whip slashed in three places: his torso, his thigh, and his wrist.

Loki didn't scream at all; he bit down on his lip to the point of bleeding and curled up, trying to get away from Surtur, trying to do what he could to protect himself. He whimpered, trying to form a spell, but the fiery whip came down across his cheek, slicing deep, and Loki screamed in agony.

" _LOKI!_ " Thor bellowed. He started forward to throw himself as Surtur—then stopped. The whole world hung in suspension, not just Loki. He saw Surtur, all his attention focused on Loki, his arm drawn back to deliver an even more vicious blow.

He realized, in that single second, that there were two possibilities. One, that he would never get to Loki in time, that Surtur would wound him past the point of his endurance and he would fall into madness. And two, that there was a slight chance that this would fail and Asgard would be lost to the Giant of Fire.

He felt the muscles in his legs, in his back, stretch and tear, the bones in his legs crack—

And then he was there, sliding between Loki and Surtur as the jotunn's hand came down. The long flaming wire struck him across the face—there was a moment of boiling pain—and then the air seemed to burst apart around him. Thor heard Loki give a started gasp, then he heard his own name be called, cutting through the painful darkness.

Surtur froze. He stared from Thor, to Loki, still hanging in the air, then down at his claws, now as empty as the air. He drew in a long, ragged breath.

"No," he said quietly, to himself. "I—I did not mean for him to—I didn't—"

"You _did_ ," Thor answered darkly, narrowing his eyes, showing off the slice that marred the rune on his cheek—where Surtur's hatred had sealed his fate. "And now you'll learn what happens when you threaten my family."

Surtur's eyes widened to a degree that would've been comical under any other circumstance. "I..." he whispered—and was abruptly cut off as a blinding light lit up the sky.

Dazed, all Thor could think of was a great bolt of white lightning spearing through Surtur on all sides. For a long time Surtur burned white against the red darkness, trapped within the eternal lightning bolt, his dark mouth a wide tunnel of agony. And then he was ash—wispy and useless, mortal—a thousand pieces that rained down on the tiles and promptly caught on fire, vanishing from existence. And then, just like that, Surtur was gone.


	12. The Nine Realms Can't Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He bellowed, "You can't! Father, you can't take away our memories! They're not yours to take!"
> 
> "It must be done." Odin glanced down. "I am sorry."

_They chased me. Forced me off the throne of their father. I had no where to go. They refused to let me escape. They followed me to the ends of Asgard and back, beating me down and breaking me until there was nothing left for me to try._

_And when I had no other place to run?_

_They were waiting. Ready to face me._

_I underestimated their power, their trust in one another. They used everything they had. Their days in Jotunheim had not weakened them. It had strengthened them, more so than their father now. The two sons of Odin stood before me as confident as their father had. The elder raised his weapon—that blasted Hammer of the Worthy—as the younger shrieked Word of Power after Word of Power._

_Being beaten by the sons of Odin was terrible, to say the least. What else is there to describe defeat, death by the spawn of your worst enemy, who you'd tried to murder without success? The pain? It was unbearable. The humiliation? Great indeed._

_But the worst part of it?_

_The last thing I saw..._

_...was Odin Borson reflected in their eyes_.

—The Fire Demon Surtur, the Lord of Muspellheim

 

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

 

The unimaginable brilliance faded into black. There was something cold and hard pressing into his back, and his whole body hurt. He heard a murmured voice above him, two murmured voices, and trying to focus on them sent a stab of pain through his head. Someone touched his throat; he took in a deep breath.

His whole body was throbbing. Loki opened his eyes part of the way and looked around him, trying not to move very much.

He was laying on the throne room floor. He had fallen to the ground when Surtur vanished, and was covered in cuts and bruises; his armor was dented, his helmet knocked off, and blood welled from the rents where Surtur had cut him.

Thor was kneeling over him, his face pale and anxious. The rune still shone like a stain of black on his cheek. "He's alive," he said. "There must be something you can do, Father. Now that the Odinsleep is finished—"

"He needs a healer." The voice was Odin's, on his other side. He knelt on the floor as well, his face hidden in shadow. "We need to bring him to the healing rooms. Are you strong enough to carry him that far? If not, I can call a healer and have them come here, but it might be better if we get him where there is equipment already—"

"You want _me_ to carry him?" Thor sounded surprised. "Even after what you—"

"There is little I can do about it now. Actions I can monitor and punish. Feelings, I cannot." Odin rose, as if he couldn't bare to be still any longer. "If you would, Thor. We should hurry. I shall deal with the...other matter once you are both healed and safe."

Loki heard Thor exhale—it wasn't with relief—and he bent over him. Loki opened his eyes the rest of the way, and their gazes met. Though Thor must have realized he was conscious, neither of them said anything. It was suddenly hard for them to look at one another with their father standing not ten meters away.

He had known, giving Thor the Jotunheim rune, that he was doing something insane, something terrifying and colossal whose outcome was unpredictable. He had no way of knowing what would become of the rune.

He would do it again, to save Thor's life. But while he'd been facing Surtur, the rune gleaming like a star, turning Surtur to ash, Loki had thought, _What have I done?_

"I'm fine, Thor." Loki lifted himself up onto his elbows. It hurt. He bit back a yelp. He didn't want Thor to worry. "I can walk."

At the sound of his voice, Odin turned. The sight of him tore at Loki. When had he woken up? Had he been conscious enough to hear Surtur's words? Did he know what was going on? He looked so much older now, different than he had six months ago when Surtur's sword had been found in Jotunheim.

His expression was absolutely blank. Loki could read nothing from it. The glaze in his single blue eye looked relieved, but Loki wasn't sure. His gaze drifted to Thor's hand, pressed protectively on his stomach, keeping him down. The nothingness in his gaze cracked, and Loki thought he saw the thing he dreaded most: the Allfather knew their feelings. He knew what forbidden thoughts his sons felt for one another.

Waving away Thor's murmuring question of whether or not he was truly all right, Loki tried to rise to his feet.

A searing pain shot through his ankle, and he cried out. He bit his lip quickly. Princes of Asgard were meant to be tough. They didn't scream in pain. They bore it silently.

Thor shot him a horrified look. "Loki?"

"Just my leg," he said. "I think I landed on it wrong when Surtur dropped me."

Odin turned away from them. "Carry him," he called to Thor over his shoulder. "Just as I instructed you to."

This time Thor didn't wait for Loki's response; he slid one arm under his knees, the other under his shoulders, and lifted him. Loki looped his arms around Thor's neck and held on tight.

Odin headed toward the throne room doors leading into the hall. Thor followed, carrying Loki as if he were made of breakable porcelain. Loki had almost forgotten how strong he was; then again, he was always complimented for this. He was a son of Odin, and where Loki had inherited the magic, Thor had inherited the strength.

Loki tightened his arms around Thor and wished for the air to cool down. His hands were slippery where they touched Thor's neck.

Odin, ahead of them, pressed against the throne room doors, but before he opened them, they flew open and Frigga exploded into the audience chambers. Her hair whipped behind her like a silver-gold sword.

"Odin!" she cried as soon as she caught sight of her husband. She raced over to him and wound her arms around him in a fierce embrace. "You foolish god! When did you wake up? I thought—"

"A short while ago." He glanced over his shoulder at his sons. "Thor and Loki defeated Surtur. It was quite the spectacle."

Frigga looked over at them and gaped. She took in the image of their hair, matted in blood, the cuts and slashes on their armor, the bruises already fading on their cheeks and hands, the dents in armor she hadn't seen before. But they were smiling when they met her gaze—both of them as brilliant as the sun.

"Hello, Mother," Thor said.

And then Frigga had flown at them and was hugging both of them tightly. She showered both of them with kisses and tears, shouting that they were never to frighten her like that ever again. They put up with the indignation, even when the Warriors Three and Sif came charging into the throne room, weapons blazing.

Seeing Thor and Loki in the throne room, Surtur nowhere to be found, Sif skidded to a stop. The Warriors Three crashed behind, knocking her to the ground.

It would have been comical if not for the looks of relief and confusion on their faces, coated in grime and blood.

"But—," Sif gasped. She was cut and bloodied, her red tunic torn raggedly around the hem, her black hair coming out of her circlet, strands of it matted with blood.

Fandral looked as if he had fared a little better; the sleeve of his tunic was torn, but the flesh under it didn't seem to be cut. Volstagg and Hogun were bruised and battered, but nothing serious. All of them stared at Thor and Loki as if they were spirits.

Sif asked, "What are you doing here?"

Thor and Loki stared at her blankly, too surprised by the sudden entrance to form any words. It took Thor a moment to reply, "I could ask you the same."

"I didn't—We saw the lights—" She glanced at Mjolnir, hanging from Thor's belt, but if she were surprised by Thor's possession of the weapon, she hid it well. "I thought you and Loki were—all of us thought—"

"I know," Thor murmured lightly. "And I'm sorry."

"Thor?" It was Frigga, her voice motherly and commanding. She glanced at the wounds on Loki's body and reached a hand out to touch his ankle; Loki bit his lip and didn't cry out this time, but she caught the pain in his gaze. "What happened?"

"Mother, can you heal him?" Thor's voice was desperate. "Surtur dropped him. He cut him first, in the fight, and I'm no healer, so...can you do that?"

"Of course I can." Frigga reached her hand out, glowing a light gold. "But you need attention, too, my son. Those cuts on your shoulder are—"

"Later, Mother. Loki's far more injured than I am. Surtur wasn't trying to kill me." His eyes met hers in a penetrating glance. Gold and azure blue held one another. "Please, Mother. He's wounded far worse than I am."

Frigga motioned for Thor to lower Loki to the floor, which he did. Loki braced his back against the wall and stood up. Then Thor turned and headed toward the throne, the glass coffin where Odin had been sleeping, the char mark where Surtur stood when the bolt of lightning turned him into a mound of ash.

Loki looked up as his mother hovered over him. She looked confused at the severity of the cuts on his stomach and arms.

"Surtur did this to you?" she demanded.

"I..." Loki looked over at Thor, who still had his back to them. He ran his hand over the broken top of the glass case. The red cape he wore was torn into shreds, like a slather of blood. "Yes. All of my magic wasn't strong enough."

"Why didn't you call us?" Sif glanced down at him, her voice sharp with rage. "Why didn't you find us before you started fighting him? Do you have any idea how worried we were? We could have helped you!"

"There wasn't time," Loki responded. "And since when have you ever cared about what happened to me, Sif? I thought you hated me."

" _Hated_ you?" Sif sputtered. "You—," she began, and then to everyone's surprise, clearly even her own, she flung herself at Loki and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He fell back against the wall, hissing as his wounded ankle shifted, but he tentatively laced his arms around her for the brief second she hugged him. When she stepped back, her eyes were narrowed and gleaming; he thought it was with hatred, but then he started to wonder if she were crying. "You and Thor are my friends. Whatever stupid things you done to me in the past, Loki, I could never want you dead."

Loki's eyebrows went up, but he managed a weak smile. That was the first sincere thing Sif had ever said to him. "Thanks."

Frigga gently moved them apart, bending over Loki to examine his wounds. She touched one of her elegantly long fingers to his temple, and Loki flinched. "I know it hurts," she said gently. "You hit your head pretty hard. We should have Fulla look at it later. What about your brother? He isn't saying anything to us about it, but he must've told you. How bad are his injuries?"

"I really don't know." Loki shook his head. "He hasn't say anything to me about it. I think he's upset with himself."

Frigga put her hand under his chin, turning his head from side to side. "What did he do that was so terrible?"

Loki glanced up at her. "What do you mean?"

Frigga released his chin once she finished healing him. "Your brother," she said, "tries to stay as far away from you whenever he does something that causes you pain. It's his own way of making sure he's punished. Remember when you fell out of the tree because he made you climb it, and you broke your leg? The reason Thor didn't come visit you right away was because he claimed he didn't deserve to be in your presence after what he did."

"He doesn't want me to worry about him," Loki murmured. He tried to keep the sorrow off his face, but he never could hide anything from his mother.

"He always wants you, Loki," Frigga said in a soft voice. Loki stilled. There was something in her voice that made Loki understand. She knew about it, their feelings for one another. And even so, she approved. Approved of _them_. "Even if he pretends not to desire your thoughts, he does. It pains him when you don't give him some sort of attention."

Odin made his presence known by clearing his throat. "We should inform the kingdom that Surtur is no longer a threat, and that the heirs to the throne have returned safely."

Fandral said, "Perhaps someone should stay here and monitor in case Surtur actually hasn't gone away. I shall stay, if you desire, my king."

"No." It was Thor. "You all may go. I'll stay. All of this was my fault. I should have never gone after the sword in the first place."

His voice trailed off. But Loki remembered him in Jotunheim, telling him how sorry he was all of this had happened, how he'd take it back if he could.

Loki turned to look at the others; Sif was leading the Warriors Three out of the throne room. Odin and Frigga were looking at one another.

Sif's brow creased. "Fandral, maybe you should stay with Thor."

"I don't need any assistance," Thor said. "There's nothing to handle. Surtur is gone. I'll be fine on my own."

Sif stared at him for a moment, then determined it was too much effort. She threw her hands up in frustration. "Fine. Stay here in case the big bad Fire Giant comes back." She stalked out of the throne room, Fandral and Hogun hurrying behind her.

Odin and Frigga left soon after. Loki saw his mother smile at him, and his father didn't look upset, yet his single blue eye stared at him, through him. In those moments, Loki knew. Odin sensed the love he and Thor held for one another—their forbidden feelings. But Odin said nothing as he left the throne room to his destroyed kingdom.

Volstagg turned and reached his hand out to Loki. But Loki looked back at his brother. Thor had gone back to staring at the box where Odin had been sleeping.

He willed Thor to turn, to look at him, as he tripped lightly to Volstagg. Thor didn't turn to look at him, but Loki suddenly felt strong hands on his shoulders, shoving him forward. He stumbled and turned to see Volstagg over his shoulder, giving him a little half-smile that was purely Volstagg; all kindness.

Loki looked at his brother's back as Volstagg hurried to catch up with the others.

He was all alone in the throne room with Thor.

Silence. Thor leaned against the box, resting his forehead on one of the cracked walls. His eyes were closed.

Loki wondered if Thor even knew he was there. He stepped to the altar. His ankle throbbed, but his mother's healing spell was working. Most of the pain in his body had subsided to a dull ache; an old bruise.

Thor looked over his shoulder as he approached; something shimmering dangled from his fingers. It was Mjolnir.

The wind brushed through the holes in the walls, tossing his hair about. He swatted it aside with an annoyed grunt and said, "Look at the damage we've done. Father will never repair this throne room. Well...at least not for a few months."

"Is that why you wanted to stay here?" Loki asked. "To note the damage?"

"I don't belong with you," Thor said abruptly. "After what I caused, I don't deserve healing spells and hugs and being consoled and whatever else our parents think we need. I brought that thing to Asgard"—he whirled to stare into Loki's eyes, his own burning with such an intensity that Loki took an involuntary step back—"and because of that, I don't deserve you. No way in Hel do I deserve you, Loki."

Loki folded his arms across his chest. "And have you ever considered what I deserve? Maybe I deserve a chance to talk to you."

Thor stared at him. They were only a few feet apart, but it felt like they were in different Realms. In a soft voice, Thor choked, "You shouldn't want to even _look_ at me...let alone talk to me."

"Thor," he said, exhausted. "It wasn't your fault."

Thor hesitated. The sky was so dark, it lit the windows like panes of flames. "If it wasn't my fault," he demanded, "then whose was it? Who was it who brought the Sword of Surtur into Asgard? Am I not the fool that let the damn beast filter his way into our hearts and minds?"

He turned abruptly and walked away, toward the entrance.

Loki whirled. " _Thor Odinson!_ "

He froze. Loki stormed forward, clenching his fists so tight he felt his nails bite in. "You were not the fool that brought Surtur here. He would have come one way or another. He wanted it this way, and if you let it get to you, then he's already won. We won. Put Surtur in the past and move on. I will, as well. This is as much my fault as it is yours, if there is any blame to be placed."

Thor looked away from him. "You shouldn't want to be near me. You should go."

Instead of leaving, Loki moved to stand beside him. His arms were already wrapping around Thor, in a cheap attempt to comfort him. Reluctantly, Thor turned.

"Loki—," he started.

"Silence. You do not get to tell me where to go."

"I know." His voice was broken. "I've always known that. I don't know why I had to fall in love with a creature as stubborn as I am."

Loki was silent for a moment. His heart had contracted at the words—"in love". In a soft voice, he said, "Then what happened in Kona Lifandi...it wasn't just a fluke. A mistake made at the spur of the moment."

"You're never a mistake." Thor's voice was harsh, fierce. "And I regret nothing we did. Nothing."

Loki moved toward him; he flinched, but didn't move away. Loki took hold of the red cape attached at his shoulders, leaning in closely, enunciating each word clearly.

"I. Don't. Either."

A look of relief crossed his face, then Thor reached out and took Loki's face between his hands. The mist of their exhaled breath rose between them now that Muspellheim's immense heat began to dissipate with the fall of its king and the arrival of Odin. "I was worried," Thor said, and kissed Loki, his mouth gentle, not fierce and desperate the way it had been in Kona Lifandi when all of this had begun.

Loki closed his eyes as the world seemed to spin around him. Sliding his hands up Thor's chest, he stretched upward as far as he could, wrapping his arms around his brother's neck.

Thor's fingers trailed down his back, over skin and leather and metal, and Loki shivered, leaning into him.

He was sure they both tasted like blood and ashes and musk, but it didn't matter; the kingdom, the realm, and all its splendor seemed to have narrowed down to include just he and Thor. A tiny gleam of hope in a world ravished by war.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

The next few days passed in a fog to Thor.

Once the adrenaline of battle had drained from his body, the strength of the ancient rune leaving like a tiny wound, he retired to his chamber.

Loki had said nothing to him when they left the throne room. They kept their hands locked until the moment they entered the halls, then Loki released him and raced to his chambers, slamming the door.

Thor knew the adrenaline had worn off for his brother, and he gave him some time. He went and took his own frustration and despair out upon his bed. On pillows, large damp areas were evidence of the tears he didn't remember spilling, while on the mattress it looked like the fabric had nearly been torn apart from where he'd battered it with his fists.

The few inquisitive servants who'd tried to find out what happened had been unceremoniously tossed from the chambers, the doors bolted and shielded from further entry behind them. At first, the sound of pounding fists and shattering furniture had resonated through the chamber from the door, but over time, they decreased and then stopped.

Through the windows, the only thing the curious servants or even levitating sorceresses could see was their crown prince asleep.

So they left him to recover, at every moment afraid that whatever remained of Surtur's army would come rolling in to continue what their master started.

In a corner of Thor's mind, he could still hear the goings-on outside of his room. How the Burned had collapsed where they stood. The minions of Surtur were in disarray and quickly falling apart. The group of sorceresses who'd joined him were regaining themselves, the Marks fading to little red scars.

After Thor had gotten his anger out for what felt like hours later, he looked up and noticed the sun high up in the sky. It filled him with a shallow sense of hope. Somehow, seeing Asgard's sun returning to normalcy made him think everything was going to be all right.

Then he remembered.

His brother.

His duties.

 _Dammit_ , he thought. How could he have forgotten? Loki must've been suffering so much worse than he was.

Thor pulled himself off his bed and looked at his reflection in the mirror beside him, despising what he saw. He looked like he was half dead! His hair was mangled and disarrayed, worse than he'd ever seen it before, and his face was streaked with grime and blood and yellowing bruises, slowly healing. The blackness of the rune had long since faded, and his face looked paler than he recalled.

Crawling from the bed, Thor stepped into the private washroom to bathe.

Afterwards, the prince of Asgard felt refreshed and considerably better than he had earlier. He was still angry and wanted to strike something, but that could wait for another time. He needed to check on his brother and assist in rebuilding his home, dammit.

He threw open the doors, surprising the two guards waiting outside. As they dropped into a bow before him, Thor thought he saw the hind-end of a small sorceress go running around the corner at the far end of the hall.

He found Loki still curled in his own bedchambers; he'd thrown magical wards around the room, and there was a flock of sorceresses trying to talk to him through the door. Amora and Lorelei were among them.

Thor looked at their foreheads, at the crimson marks. Faded. The remnants of the war he'd brought to Asgard.

The sorceresses bowed their heads and let Thor try and appeal to his brother. Loki didn't let him in at first, telling him to go away. But Thor was persistent, and eventually Loki threw up the wards long enough for his brother to slip safely inside. Once they were alone, they talked about what had happened until Thor could no longer understand Loki through his tears. Thor himself began tearing up as well, and soon the two brothers were embracing one another and sobbing like children.

They did nothing like they had in Kona Lifandi. Now was not the time. They fell asleep hours later, still in each other's arms, wrapped in the sorrow of their actions.

None of Asgard—not Odin, not Frigga, not Amora nor Lorelei, nor Sif nor the Warriors Three—saw the young princes for three days. Only Heimdall could see them, and relayed their safety and their lament to their parents. And when they weren't asking, the Gatekeeper stood in chilled silence, listening with a heavy heart to the mournings of two princes who should never have been dragged into such a terrible war.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

"What will we do with them, Sire?" a gruff guard asked him.

Looking across the field, Loki grimaced at the sight that lay before him. Multitudes of Burned lay strewn haphazardly across the fields of Asgard's main square, many of them dead from being cut down by the remaining Asgardian forces.

Loki crept forward and knelt down before one Burned, a little boy. Surtur was gone, so he couldn't understand why the Asgardians placed under his control by Loki's corrupt magic during his time as false king of Asgard was still in effect.

Nudging the child, Loki touched his hand to the boy's forehead to find out if there was something—if anything—that he could do for him, and was immediately plunged into nightmares so severe he thought they were his own.

It felt like an eternity until something broke the contact between them, bringing Loki back to the present.

He was shivering, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and he was honestly surprised, and a little relieved, that he had not lost control of his bowels as he did when he was a child. "Wha-wh-wh-what happened...?"

There was no guard at his side; it was Thor, firm hand on his shoulder, looking concerned and princely in his gleaming silver armor. "You touched your hand to the Burned, then screamed and were cut off somehow." His voice broke as he said, "You...you stopped breathing, Loki. The color in your face began to fade, and that's when I wrenched your hand away from that...thing's. What happened to you, brother?"

Lowering his head, Loki whispered, "I can't save them. When I went in...there's nothing of them left. Only nightmares remain. I...I don't know what to do! I _want_ to save them! Gods, I want to save them so bad! I'm the one who caused this! I—I did this to them, Thor, and I want to save them, but there's nothing I can do to help!"

The sound of a sword unsheathing caused Loki's head to dart up and look at his brother. "Thor?" he asked.

The guards had their heads lowered in respect to their princes, but their faces were gray and pitiful.

Loki felt a hollow gnawing in the pit of his stomach. "Oh, Thor...oh, you can't...you can't be serious. You just can't—"

Thor said, softly, "I am a warrior. You are a sorcerer. Right now, if there is nothing you can do for them, then the only merciful course of action is to give them a swift death." He held up his sword and turned his gaze to his little brother. "Do I have your acceptance, Loki?"

Loki shut his eyes tight against the stinging tears, wishing this wasn't the case, but he did not wish to see the Asgardians he'd doomed suffer further and finally nodded.

"Wait until after I have gone." He turned his face away. "I...I can't watch this. Please, Thor...please end their suffering..."

Opening his eyes wide to keep the tears at bay, Loki looked to the skies and tried to get as much distance as he could between himself and his brother, from the Asgardians he'd doomed to such a horrid fate, but even then he couldn't escape the sounds of steel sliding into young flesh.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

"My fellow Asgardians, we are all gathered here so that I may announce that the war is over. It was through great fortune that my sons, Thor and Loki, managed to defeat Surtur just a mere seven days ago and banished him from the land of the living, forever."

Even as he spoke, Odin could not help but think about all the innocent lives that had been lost, and though, in reality it only lasted for a few minutes, the speech seemed as though it carried on for hours. He saw a number of Asgardians raise their hands in the air, eager to ask questions. Loki and Thor lingered behind Odin, exchanging looks and bowing their heads from time to time. Odin selected Asgardians at random to ask their questions.

"Now that this 'war' is over, what are your plans for rebuilding Asgard?"

Trying to show nothing but confidence, Odin raised his voice, "I plan to begin the reconstruction of all the cities attacked by Surtur's forces immediately. We estimate that the city will be rebuilt in roughly six months. No more. No less. Next question?"

Before he was able to point to another, a thick commoner woman shouted, "And what about all the warriors injured in the war? What are you going to do for their families?"

"Do we even know what started this bloody thing in the first place?" another said.

Asgardians began to speak and shout at the King and his sons without giving either a chance to respond. Gradually the whole thing degenerated into a cacophony of voices all wanting to be heard as angry Asgardians—mothers and fathers of children who'd been Burned, wives whose husbands had perished, children whose parents were dead and buried—each raised their own questions. Their voices were like an angry war cry, a buzz from some great animal.

"Who's going to pay for all this?!"

"Your sons could have prevented this war from even starting..."

"...heard that you abandoned your brother to..."

"Crock of bullshit—Loki caused this war to try and rule Asgard!"

"My father is _dead_ because of you!"

"...rumors that all the remaining enemy forces were slaughtered without mercy!"

Loki looked stricken by the number of angry retorts aimed at him. "I...What I can say is...That's not true! No, that did not..." He tried to answer as many questions as he could, but new ones quickly stopped him, and the more he tried to answer the more the anger grew.

Odin tried to control the situation. He shouted commands that went unheeded.

Thor brandished Mjolnir and stood by his brother, hollering and shouting at the mob that aimed accusations at his family and at him.

The crowd had become little more than an unruly mob. Asgardians began pushing against the guards at the edge of the stage in protest. Cries of "Murderer! Tyrant!" emanated from the mass of angered subjects, slowly merging into a chant which rose into the air as the mob took it up.

Someone hurled a stone which struck Loki in the forehead; he fell back with a startled cry.

Thor bellowed like an animal and tried to surge into the crowd, but Odin's thick arm stopped him. He said, "Go. It's too dangerous for you and your brother here. I shall handle this."

Thor glared angrily, not wanting to be told what to do—especially now—but he had no choice. He grasped Loki's wrist and dragged him away. They left the jeering mass behind them and sprinted across the cobblestones leading to the ruined castle.

Loki didn't look back as his brother dragged him along. He felt the blood dripping down his forehead. He was surprised by how little it bothered him. All he could think, as they ran for their lives, was, _I'm not a murderer! I—I was possessed! I didn't mean to do any of that! I'm not a tyrant! I didn't want to kill anyone! I didn't want to start a war! I didn't...No!_

His eyes were wet and he was crying as he and Thor disappeared into the safety of the castle of a realm that didn't want them anymore.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

As time passed, Asgard's trust in their princes went down as the rumors and accusations of tyrants and traitors went out across the realm, and while they did their best to deal with it and try to console their subjects, it did not help that many of the communities hated them for allowing the war to even occur.

In a few weeks, however, order was eventually restored to the kingdom. More or less.

Asgard's new palace was proceeding along quite nicely, assisted in no small part by the magic of the sorceress workforce present in the city. A dungeon had to be built, unfortunately, due to the disorder still raging throughout the realm and because of that, it filled up quite quickly. In order to offset this, the worst of the offenders went to the captain of the Einherjar, who gave them a choice: the axe, the sword, or the noose.

When Thor and Loki discovered the executions, they were outraged. They did all they could to remove the corrupt council members—throw fits and yell at their father during council hours—and get Asgardians who would not immediately offer death as the only choice.

The whole ordeal only succeeded in getting them further labeled as tyrant princes, and gave more ammunition to those in Asgard who believed the princes should be exiled for their involvement in Surtur's short yet destructive rule in Asgard—Loki, for being the cause of the entire thing, and Thor, for doing nothing while Asgard suffered under his brother's burning hand.

It was at this point that the Allfather became desperate for his sons' safety and well-being. Desperate enough to use a spell that would label _him_ as a tyrant for sure if it was ever discovered.

A new day found the king of Asgard in the throne room with his sons kneeling before him.

Odin rallied himself by shifting his cape and adjusting his armor. In his kingly attire, he looked as if he had always been present in Asgard. Thor found himself wondering when Odin had ever been his age.

"Now that Surtur has been reduced to ash, we must move on," Odin said. "My sons, the first thing I ask is that you explain to me what brought about this occurrence."

Thor and Loki didn't look at one another. Neither wanted to give away the truth. Thor, deciding to be the spokesperson, answered, "An accident. A foolish mistake. Nothing more, Father. It was all a mistake."

"Mistakes are always made," Odin said, "but rarely with such grave consequences."

"I know," Thor said quietly.

Loki was careful not to stir beside him. He looked up at Odin with steady interest. Something in his eyes made Thor cringe. Memories of their time together flashed before his eyes, and he wanted to reach out and hold them close. In the presence of their father, his memories seemed to slip into a hazy fog.

Odin stood, his cape rustling like water. "What I say now is most important. I expect both of my sons to understand." He took their stunned silence as assent. He looked down at them. "There is too much hatred in Asgard. Our realm of peace has become a site of war and devastation, and I will not allow it to go on any longer. You will not repeat what I have to say now, my sons. You will not remember what has been said here. No, you will not want to. You will not choose to. You will not remember to. Once this is all over, everyone in the Nine Realms will have been affected by a spell that will cause them never to remember this the way it was. No"—he held his hand up to halt Loki's protest—"you have no say in the matter. The deed has already been decided, and you shall obey."

Thor tried to look at himself to see if he felt bound or affected by a spell. He didn't. He just felt like a frightened child.

He glanced at Loki. His brother looked stoic and subdued. Thor feared that the spell was already working on him.

"The memories of the Nine Realms shall be eradicated," Odin said, clasping his hands before his chest gravely. "No one will remember what has transpired. I do not have the power to erase it for what it is, but I have the ability to manipulate it. No one will ever remember the truth about Surtur, or your involvement." He looked down at them with his single blue eye gleaming. "Nor shall you remember these feelings of yours."

He said the last part softly, a tense whisper, but Thor heard it all the same.

He bellowed, "You can't! Father, you can't take away our memories! They're not yours to take!"

"It must be done." Odin glanced down. "I am sorry."

Loki's blank eyes widened slightly, comprehending what this meant. He shot Thor a desperate look, face pale and terror present. In the lowest voice he could manage, he whispered Thor's name and reached out for him.

"You can erase our memories," Thor said, "but you can never make us forget how we feel. I loved Loki before Surtur, and I'll love him after, whether I remember it or not. Blood or no, Loki and I are in love, Father."

Odin shook his head. "You have much to learn. Feelings are as easy to replace as memories. The two of you will remember nothing of this. It will be as if it never happened. It never existed."

Thor took Loki's hand in his own and whirled on Odin. There was such fury in his eyes Odin felt as if he were staring into the abyss of Muspellheim itself, into the very remnants of Surtur's soul still on his sons' minds. "I hate you," Thor spat. His voice was like venom, his glare like dagger. He kept his grip tight on Loki's hand, a sign of defiance against his father's wishes, against this damn spell of his.

"You won't," Odin murmured. "Soon."

Standing above his sons, Odin sent a ray of his power across Asgard, weaving his spell and checking it once, twice, and a third time to ensure that it would be done right the first time. Then he closed his eyes and exhaled, focusing the Odinforce to do its task.

What passed through the Nine Realms was an immensely complicated spell that touched every creature, large and small, immortal or no, powerful or weak. They knew that something had happened in the previous weeks. Something...horrible? Wonderful? They could not place it no matter how hard they tried.

They knew that there had been an attack on Asgard by Surtur who'd returned from the grave, that Odin had been trapped in the Odinsleep, that Thor had claimed Mjollnir and that he and Loki had defeated Surtur for good, nearly losing their own lives in the process, but the specifics were always vague, as if it had happened so long ago they could no longer remember it in enough detail to make any sense of it.

Memories of loved ones who died vanished, instead replaced by ones of them moving on. Accidents killed their friends, a slew of accidents that spread across the Nine Realms. Maybe perpetrated by the attack caused by Surtur? They did not know for certain, and it did not seem important.

Even Thor and Loki could not remember. They knew they had fought Surtur...but why? He'd attacked Asgard and hurt many, and that seemed reason enough. But how had Thor claimed Mjollnir? How did they come to claim the armor they now wore, so special it molded to their forms no matter how they grew and changed? They knew...a moment ago, but whenever they tried to think long enough to make sense of it, the memories vanished like a dream neither could fully recall.

And so their defeat of Surtur drifted into legend, a memory neither bothered to pursue because they could not remember enough to do it justice.

No...no creature, living or deceased or otherwise, in the Nine Realms would remember. They would not remember the terror that was New Muspellheim. And they would not remember the part his sons had to play in it.

Months passed, and Odin began to notice the small changes. Asgard was rebuilding itself, and there was no memory of the War of Surtur. Enough to know that their princes were heroes and their world was safe for now, but not enough to recall the horrors the months prior had brought along.

And Odin made certain to erase any trace of the truth.

No being would ever learn of his sons' downfall ever again.

 

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~**

 

"Happy birthday, brother!"

Thor grinned. Loki stood on the other end of the sparring ring, clutching a brown package to his chest. He was trying to keep it hidden beneath his robes, but Thor spotted it right off and shook his head with a laugh. His brother was so bad at hiding things.

"Thank you, Loki." He set his sword on the ground and crossed the tiny ring. "I was starting to fear you'd forgotten."

"Forget your birthday?" Loki rolled his eyes. "What kind of brother do you take me for?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but a sudden image cut him off. An image of his brother on his back, head thrown back, eyes closed and mouth open, whispering his name over and over again.

Thor looked away.

"Brother?" Loki tilted his head.

Once the moment passed, Thor shook his head. What was it that caused him to look away from his brother? He knew a second ago, but it seemed to have faded. "It's nothing, Loki. Tell me, how goes the rebuilding?"

"Excellent. Amora, Lorelei, and I have accomplished a lot."

"I'm glad for it." Thor thought of the two sorceresses and the red scars on their foreheads. They'd faded considerably, leaving only pink lines in their wake. He wondered what had happened to get them there. "It will be nice to finally have the caste back to perfection. That hole in the wall is not very becoming."

Loki laughed. "You should come watch us. We're about to fix the arch above the gate. Then I'll give you your birthday present."

Thor smiled at him. He wanted to thank him, to tell him he would enjoy going, but something else cut him off.

A feeling. A fleeting moment in which he remembered something as if from a dream. Words he'd said to Loki at a point in time he could not recall. Were they truth? Memory? Dream? He couldn't recall. Yet there they were, floating in front of him. An overwhelming desire to drag Loki forward and crush their mouths together; the need to take him into his arms and tell him how much he loved him.

These feelings were always there. Always present. Yet whenever he tried to see them, tried to hold on to them and keep them close and analyze them—

"What is it, Thor?" Loki asked.

Thor looked up at him. He couldn't remember. He'd known a moment ago, but the thought seemed to have vanished. Like a mirage. A vacant dream long forgotten. He said, "It's nothing, brother. Let's go." Then he took Loki's wrist in his own and raced to the castle, away from the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The End_
> 
> Thank you to everyone who continued with this story until the end! I am thankful for that! Now I hope everyone will love Vengeance and Comfort once I update it, as well as The First Roll of Thunder That Brings the Storm, which is set to be updated with the second chapter as soon as possible.

**Author's Note:**

>  _To Be Continued_...


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